


What A Year And What A Night

by thisonegoes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M, Roommates, Slow Build, Switching, Top Harry, Top Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/pseuds/thisonegoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn put an ad on Craigslist, an ad he made sure had a specific and detailed list for what his next roommate must possess. He figured he'd give this Harry person a chance.</p><p>College roommate AU where Zayn and Harry learn to live together. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Zayn sits in the coffee shop on campus, waiting for someone he's never seen and never met. He shifts in his seat, tugging at the top of his messy hair. He readjusts his watch, making the face straight on his wrist since it runs a little big on him, before shifting yet again, moving his coffee cup from hand to hand across the table.  
  
Zayn doesn't get nervous often, not when it counts. He doesn't speed, so he hardly gets nervous around cops. He studies hard, he's smart, he's able, so when he puts his mind to something, anything really, he does it with a level head and a steady hand. Sure, he can be a little shy. But he doesn't get nervous around people, so much as he gets overwhelmed by them. He just doesn't enjoy being in crowded rooms, around large groups of people he hardly knows.

So don't get the wrong idea about Zayn Malik being nervous now, it's not a thing he usually has to deal with. It's just that he's about to meet a new person, a fresh face, for the first time, and that innately makes him a little weary. Sue him.  
  
Zayn's last roommate Stephen ("with a ph") was kind of an asshole. He was rude to Zayn's girlfriend, he didn't give a proper hello to his mom when she visited the first time, and he always ate the last of the eggs without buying more. He always left the bathroom too steamy after his long showers, he walked around the apartment like it was summer all the time, even when it was chilly, and that's just stupid, if you ask Zayn. He was also messy and left the hall light on, which drove Zayn absolutely crazy.  
  
So when Stephen finally moved out, on short notice no less, Zayn put an ad on Craigslist, an ad he made sure had a specific and detailed list for what his next roommate must possess.  
  
Zayn, by the way, makes great lists.  
   
 _UCLA senior seeking male roommate to share two bedroom apartment near campus. Must be neat, quiet, preferably also a student, and agree to pay all utilities equally, including internet/cable. No pets, no parties, no George Strait music, no excessive soda drinking. Rent is $785. Email for more information._  
  
A few people emailed about the ad, but they all seemed too flaky. Zayn doesn't trust anyone who won't answer emails right away. So when some dude emailed him and asked to see the place without any other questions, normal questions like "How much are the utilities normally?" or "Why no George Strait music or soda?" Zayn was skeptical. He replied that he'd like to meet up first, see if they would make sense as roommates, and the guy responded literally three seconds later, asking where to meet. After that, Zayn figured he'd give this Harry person a chance.  
  
So as he waits, Zayn makes a mental list of things he needs to check off when it comes to a new roommate. Stephen was annoying, pretentious, and hardly offered to clean the main rooms of the apartment. He said Zayn was "too particular" about how the vacuuming should be done, said Zayn just "rewashed" all the dishes when he did them anyways, which isn't fucking fair because that was _one_ time.  
  
Zayn shifts in his chair again, wondering what Harry looks like. Zayn politely told Harry he'd be wearing a jean jacket and a black tshirt, but Harry just responded two seconds later with a quick _see you soon._ It was annoying. Zayn shifts yet again.  
  
Just then he sees a guy walk into the coffee shop, looking like a cross between a young, drug fueled Johnny Depp on a good day, and a Sunset Strip hipster on a bad day. He's wearing a ridiculously tight pair of black jeans, holes all over the knees and thighs, a plaid shirt hanging off his lanky frame, and a fucking scarf wrapped around his mopped head of hair. He's also chewing gum, but in the most obnoxious way possible, rolling it around in his mouth from side to side, letting everyone know he doesn't have a care in the world. Zayn narrows his eyes slightly, wondering how this guy can possibly be real, who this act is even for. He doesn't seem to be carrying any books, a bag of any kind. He just has a phone and a lone credit card in his hand, looking around with big, doe eyes.  
  
Zayn knows this must be Harry, because apparently he's incapable of procuring a normal fucking person to live with, and he hates him already.  
  
Zayn literally has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at this absurd person walking towards the back of the coffee shop, as he raises his arm to gesture him over. Harry lights up and stumbles over, tripping over his massive feet, shoulders slightly hunched.  
  
"Hey," he says on an exhale, plopping himself into the seat opposite Zayn, smiling.  
  
"Hey, I'm Zayn. Thanks for meeting me," Zayn says, reaching out for his hand. When Harry grasps him firmly, Zayn can't help himself so he continues. "Why don't you have a wallet?"  
  
Harry looks down at his phone and credit card.  
  
"Uh, I don't know. I guess I just grabbed what was on the table. Didn't need my wallet."  
  
Zayn lets go of Harry's hand, face set so his annoyance doesn't come across, as Harry keeps talking.  
  
"Thank you, for responding to me so quickly. I really need a place to stay, so. You're my last option," he says, pulling his arm back so he can sit on his hands, still smiling like an idiot.  
  
"Well, I can't say for sure if you'll be moving in. Not yet, anyways."  
  
"Understood."  
  
"Tell me about yourself. Tell me what your deal is," Zayn says, businesslike, as he opens up the list in his mind, imaginary pen at the ready. He has a feeling this Harry guy will fit absolutely zero of his needs, but he's here, so Zayn has to be somewhat polite.  
  
"Well, I'm going into my junior year in a few weeks when the semester starts. Still undecided, though. Uh, I'm from Castaic, a really small town north of here. My parents are still there, they live near the lake, my sister too."  
  
Zayn stares at him, this awkward muppet of a person who still doesn't have a major as a _junior_. He also doesn't really care where Harry's from. Harry must sense it because he barrels on.  
  
"Uh, I just don't know what I'm going to declare as my major yet. I think I have a little more time. But I'm neat, I swear. I don't have like, parties or anything. I'll pay the rent and bills on time, I'm good for it. And I like to think I'm nice, I'm friendly. I'm always up for hanging out, studying, whatever," he says, smiling.  
  
Zayn hates how much he smiles. It's unsettling.  
  
"I hated my last roommate. Stephen. He was messy and didn't replenish the eggs. He left the hall light on," Zayn says, crossing his arms. "I don't need a friend, or anyone to hang out with. I just need someone to pay half of everything and not listen to loud music."  
  
"Especially George Strait?" Harry says, sitting back, pulling his hands out from under him, laughing.  
  
"I hate George Strait."  
  
"Why?" Harry asks, tilting his head, curiously, like he's in class, wondering what a formula means or how it's useful to the world.  
  
"I just don't like him. I never have. His music reminds me Stephen, who was a jerk and listened to him all the time, and I don't like his voice," Zayn replies, sternly, finally.  
  
"Understood," Harry nods, like it makes complete and utter sense. "Quite random, and oddly specific, but understood."  
  
Zayn is smart enough to know that it doesn't make sense, and that it's completely irrational to ask this of a roommate. He at least knows he's irrational, that it's odd for him to dislike the things he dislikes, but he won't apologize for his preferences, so there.  
  
"And why no soda?" Harry asks, still looking at him like a baby deer. Zayn wants to roll his eyes again, this kid is so fucking annoying.  
  
"Stephen used to drink so much goddamn Mountain Dew it made _my_ teeth ache. It's just… it's not good for your teeth and the bottles take up too much room in the fridge, and I just don't like it, so." Zayn says, moving his coffee cup around again for no reason.  
  
"Okay," Harry nods.  
  
"Okay?" Zayn asks skeptically, shaking his head slightly. He thought for a fact his ad would be fucking ridiculous to the entire student body, and even if anyone did fit the criteria, he certainly didn't think it'd be someone like this kid.  
  
"I need somewhere to live, Zayn. And it's your place. So if you need me to not listen to George Strait or drink too much Mountain Dew, that's fine," he smiles again.  
  
Zayn thinks for a beat, mulls it over in his mind, wondering if Harry is who he says he is, a clean guy who will do what Zayn asks. Harry is ridiculous, clearly, but he seems harmless. He seems to have a brightness to him at least, so that can't hurt. Zayn's been told he can be "too intense" and "set in his ways," so maybe having a person like Harry around wouldn't be terrible.  
  
"And you can pay the rent? Every month? You won't be late with it?"  
  
"I'm good for it," Harry says, smile sliding off his face. "Seriously. I want to live near campus and I want this apartment, if you'll have me."  
  
Zayn stares at him, before getting up and putting his bag over his shoulder, shifting it. He picks up his Lakers hat from the table and throws it on backwards, gesturing for Harry to follow him.  
  
"I'll take you to see the place, but don't touch anything. This doesn't mean you can move in yet," he says over his shoulder and Harry shuffles to keep up.  
  
"Okay," he smiles.

  
  
***

  
Zayn stands back and watches Harry as he walks around the living room, before venturing into the combined dining area and kitchen. It's nothing fancy, just a classic college-type apartment, he supposes, white walls and beige carpet, all white kitchen. There's a balcony with shitty hanging blinds covering the sliding door, the balcony Zayn likes to chill out on, smoke a joint on when he feels too stressed. He noticed when they walked down the hall towards the front door that Harry initially eyed it nervously, looked at the 913 on the door with an odd expression, but Zayn notes that once inside, Harry weirdly seems to make sense here.  
  
Harry nods his head, as he takes it in. He walks around with his hands behind his back. Zayn doesn't have much decorating the place, nothing really on any of the tables, and only a painting he did last year on the main wall. Stephen took the couch when he moved out last month, so there's nothing to sit on, nothing facing the large TV.  
  
"I have a couch, I can bring it," Harry says expectantly, turning towards Zayn again, eyes huge.  
  
"The room's down the hall," Zayn ignores him, turning for Harry to follow, as they pass Zayn's closed door and the bathroom.  
  
The second bedroom is small, but the closet's a decent size. Harry looks out the window overlooking the parking lot, the same view from every window in the apartment, as Zayn continues to watch him. He strolls around the room, in a wide circle, breathing deeply.  
  
"I like it," Harry nods again, hands on his hips, turning to Zayn. "It feels right. Good energy here."  
  
"What?" Zayn says, voice dripping with disdain. This guy can't be serious.  
  
"Some spaces just feel heavy. They feel heavy, or like there's too much _there_ , you know? This place is light. I like it," Harry says, still fucking nodding.  
  
This time Zayn really does roll his eyes. He can't exactly be surprised, living in California his whole life. If he had a nickel for every hippy ass vegan he met, drinking their green drinks, babbling about moon phases and astrological signs, he'd be richer than his fucking dad, and that's saying something.  
  
But seeing Harry stand in the bedroom, seeing how content he already is, how ready he is to move in, Zayn relents. Fuck, if nothing else, Harry mentioned a couch, so that's a plus.  
  
"Whatever, dude. If you want the room, you can be my roommate. I need rent and utility money when you move your shit in," Zayn says before walking back to the living room.  
  
"Holy shit, thank you, Zayn. Seriously. Thanks. This is going to be great, you'll see," Harry says excitedly, following after him like a puppy.  
  
Zayn stops by the front door, opening it to let Harry out, before turning back to him.  
  
"Seriously. No big parties, no noise, no nothing. I study, Harry. I study and I have a girlfriend who likes to study in the quiet, as well. So don't be a dick, don't be annoying, and do your own thing," he says, serious expression lining his face.  
  
"I'll be good, I swear," Harry nods, with a sweet smile.  
  
Zayn has to force himself from rolling his eyes again, as they both pull out their phones to exchange all their contact information. Harry has dirt under his finger nails and Zayn wants to scold him for it. But he doesn't.  
  
The last interaction they have that day is as Harry passes Zayn to leave, as he walks out the front door. He grabs Zayn's arm, curls his fingers around his bicep to give a reassuring squeeze and another goddamn smile, before vanishing down the hall.  
  
Zayn sincerely hopes by the end of the year, he doesn't end up murdering Harry. He really, truly does.

  
  
***

  
The semester was quickly approaching, only two weeks away, and it was stressing Zayn out. Unlike Harry Styles, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life and his major was nothing to joke about. He decided in high school to study media arts when he found out a straight art degree wouldn't do him much good. His dad also refused to pay his tuition if he went the art route, so they compromised with media arts when they saw how the program was structured and how much money Zayn could make by designing video games someday, drawing animation, working in visual communication somehow.  
  
So Zayn spends the week leading up to Harry's move in getting the place ready, while also trying to wrap his head around his rigorous senior year class schedule. He gets his books, sets his desk up the way he likes, the desk facing the window in his room looking over the parking lot. It's not a great view, but the lighting helps him focus, on gorgeous sunny days. If he faces the open window, he can let the sun wash over his face while he stares at his massive iMac screen for hours on end.  
  
He makes sure the place is vacuumed correctly, the blinds aren't dusty in Harry's room, the bathroom looks presentable. It's not until Sara mentions how he had done all of it right when Stephen moved out, and the week after, and two days ago, that Zayn realizes Harry is still making him nervous.  
  
"I just want it to be done now, so I don't have to worry about it being clean when he gets here," Zayn says to her, on his hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor.  
  
"You need to relax, babe," she says, tugging on the back of his shirt, pulling him to stand up and face her.  
  
She kisses him chastely on the mouth, sweetly, just the way she likes, and Zayn shakes his head. He knows he's being fucking crazy. He peels off the plastic yellow gloves and throws them towards the sink, letting her rub the back of his head and kiss his cheek.  
  
Sara has been Zayn's girlfriend all through college, after they met on their very first day near the dorms. She was trying to lift a heavy box during move in, and people kept walking around her, too wrapped up in carrying their own belongings into the dorm. Zayn immediately felt sorry for her. She was petite, had shoulder length brown hair and big, blue eyes. She looked absolutely ruffled trying to carry it all by herself, so when Zayn ran to grab it from her, she sighed in relief.  
  
The rest, as they say, is history. They lived in the same dorm, on different floors, and they spent their spare time holed up in Zayn's room, studying together, laughing over random comedy albums Zayn downloaded, having easy and casual sex when they felt like it. Zayn would never admit it, that the sex was the least of his concerns, but it never seemed to be at the top of Sara's priority list either. It wasn't even a discussion, that their relationship fell a few notches below other things on the totem pole of life. They both studied too hard, hung out with their own groups of friends, friends Zayn had to force himself to make, partied occasionally. They only ever came together when one of them was stressed, or needed someone to keep them company when they buried their face in a book.  
  
Liam had asked Zayn a few weeks ago, before he put the ad on Craigslist, why Zayn and Sara didn't just move in together and make it easy on themselves. Zayn didn't have the heart to tell Liam, or even admit to himself, that him and Sara had a shelf life. They weren't the couple who move in together, who live happily ever after. They were comfortable with the way things were.  
  
But Sara cared for him, and knew Zayn. She knew he became obsessive when he was nervous. She knew he hated new people, people who could potentially let him down.  
  
"When does he get here?"  
  
"Soon."  
  
"You want me to stay? Keep you company?"  
  
"No, stop. You have to work. It's fine. You can meet him tomorrow?" he says, standing back, blowing his hair away from his sweaty forehead.  
  
"Sure, I'll text you. Bye babe," she finishes, kissing him quickly, before heading out of the kitchen.  
  
Zayn stands with his hands on his hips, surveying the room. It's already fucking clean, he knows it. The whole place is clean. But he still can't put his finger on Harry, can't peg him, or read who he is. He says he's neat and quiet. He seems polite. But Stephen seemed fine at first too, and he ended up being an asshole.  
  
Regardless, Zayn forces himself to give Harry a chance. He reminds himself to be open and honest, to tell Harry the rules first thing, so there's no confusion later. He almost texts Doniya, just because, to reach out while he's stressed, but he doesn't.  
  
He instead takes a hot shower, scrubbing under his fingernails extra hard.

  
  
***

  
Harry knocks on the door promptly at two, just like he said he would. Zayn has to give it to him, he answers emails quickly and he's punctual, so that's something to go in the NO column of the "Do I Hate Harry Styles?" list he currently has in his mind.  
  
Zayn opens the door and sees Harry in another pair of ripped jeans, another shitty plaid shirt, and a different scarf around his head. It doesn't even hold his hair any certain way, doesn't keep it off his neck, so Zayn hardly sees the point of it at all. But Harry smiles at him, all big and bright, so Zayn moves back to let him in.  
  
"Hey Harry," he says, closing the door, noticing Harry has nothing in his arms.  
  
"Can I be really honest with you?" Harry turns to him, hands on his hips.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I hate the number on the door. I really do, Zayn. I hate it so much. So I'm putting it out there now, that I dislike it, to get it out and to let it go."  
  
Zayn stares at him, wide eyed.  
  
"I don't like the 9-1-3 of it, I hate all the odd numbers. It adds up to be thirteen. It's literally the worst number I could possibly live behind. But this is me, letting it go. It's gone," he says, moving his arms, as if he's physically pushing something away from his body.  
  
Zayn truly doesn't know what to say, or how to answer Harry, if there was even a question anywhere in there. So he just stares at Harry, stares as he walks in a big circle around the living room again, probably "feeling the energy" or some bullshit like last time.  
  
He's saved when they're hit with a huge bang coming from the other side of the door, muffled angry voices mixed with it.  
  
"Open the fucking door, you idiot," Zayn hears. He's bewildered, so he hurries to open it, as Harry continues walking in a circle.  
  
Two guys hold a couch in the hallway, a brown ratty thing that's probably older than all of them, and they not so delicately push Zayn out of the way to get it into the apartment.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Hazza. You walk in with nothing, and leave us the couch. Fucker," the shorter guy says, huffing, as they drop it against the wall.  
  
"We still have to get his bed in here, too. Shit," the blonde kid says, stretching his arms out, rubbing at his palms.  
  
Zayn just stares at them, these two new strangers in his place of residence. He feels like the back of his neck is burning. The shorter guy, with crazy hair like Harry, pops an unlit cigarette between his lips, as the blonde one in the thin tank top tips his sunglasses back onto his face. They both turn to look at Zayn, as Harry settles next to them.  
  
"Zayn, this is Louis and Niall. And this is Zayn, my new roommate," he says, gesturing around at them all, smiling.  
  
They each give a quick hey, before walking back out into the hallway, leaving Zayn and Harry alone again. Harry won't look away from him. He won't stop fucking smiling. Zayn wants to be in his room at the moment, so he doesn't have to do this any longer, be around people he doesn't know, be around this stupid kid he's stupidly letting move in. But he can't be impolite.  
  
"Do you like, need help or anything? Anything I can grab?"  
  
"Oh please, Zayn. I'm not going to make you help me. That's why I brought those two goons," Harry says, pointing to the door. "Don't you lift a finger, roommate. I got this."  
  
And with that, Harry grabs his arm again, before walking out the open front door.

  
  
***

  
Zayn listens from his room later that day, as Harry and his friends make trip after trip from their cars, up to Harry's new room. They constantly walk past his door, as they bring boxes and furniture in. Zayn notices their voices are low, they're not yelling or playing music at all, which is nice. The semester hasn't started yet, Zayn isn't actually studying anything, but it bodes well.  
  
He hears Louis and Niall moving around in the living room, after they're done getting it all in, as Harry walks up and down the hall a few times. Zayn wonders if he's still feeling energy or whatever bullshit he said before, but he shakes his head, telling himself not to worry about it. Not his problem.  
  
It gets quiet a few hours later after the sun has set, which Zayn is grateful for. It's not like Harry can't have people over, but Zayn had hoped their first night in the apartment would just be the two of them. They have things to talk about, after all.  
  
So he walks into the living room, wearing his favorite track pants and a simple grey tshirt, to see Harry fucking Styles doing yoga in the middle of the floor. He's on an orange yoga mat, shirtless, wearing tiny yellow shorts, ass towards the ceiling, curls brushing against the mat between his hands. Zayn realizes the lights are all off except for the hanging lamp over the kitchen table, but there's a candle burning in the corner near the sliding glass door, a scent Zayn can't place.  
  
Harry shifts, bringing a leg forward to bend it in front of him, his arms swinging high up above his head, crossing his thumbs as he angles his face towards the ceiling. His eyes are closed, Zayn can tell now, as he watches for a second longer, before shaking his head.  
  
"Uh," he says, walking around Harry towards the kitchen, announcing himself.  
  
"Oh hey, " Harry says, turning his head to smile at Zayn, bringing his arms down. He's still in a lunge, even as his hands drop to his sides. Zayn notices how strong his legs must be, if he can hold the position without shaking. He also notices the seemingly random bits of ink all over Harry's chest and arms.  
  
Zayn sits at the kitchen table, still dumbfounded at the fucking crazy person doing yoga in his living room. He shakes his head again, tells himself to focus, as he gestures to the chair opposite him at the table. The light above it illuminates Harry's face as he sits down and leans in slightly.  
  
"What's going on?" Harry says easily, looking at Zayn expectantly.  
  
"Yoga?" Zayn questions.  
  
"It's very relaxing. Have you ever done it? I needed to de-stress after today. Moving sucks. And I still need to unpack everything, which overwhelms me, so."  
  
Zayn just nods. Harry seems to be a very self aware person, very in touch with his feelings, which Zayn finds alarming. He's also never tried yoga. It looked complicated and weird, and he's not exactly the most flexible person in the world, so the whole thing spelled disaster. But he moves on.  
  
"So we should talk, now that you're here," he says, folding his hands on the shitty fake wooden surface.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"We need to set ground rules. We need rules we both agree to follow."  
  
"Rules?"  
  
"It's important to have rules, Harry. Everyone should have rules and standards to live by. Everyone should make the choice to set a standard," Zayn says seriously. "I have rules. You should have rules for me, too. It's only fair."  
  
Harry frowns slightly, but he nods anyway.  
  
"Okay, what are your rules, Zayn? Tell me everything," he says, now folding his hands on the table as well. They're acting like they're in some sort of deposition or meeting, and Zayn almost smiles at how ridiculous they probably look.  
  
"You already know the basics. No pets, no parties, no George Strait, no excessive soda. No noise. Replenish the food you eat the last of. Don't leave the hall light on."  
  
"Done."  
  
"But there's a few more," Zayn says, firmly. "Smoking on the balcony only, cigarettes _and_ weed… Oh, and I don't do well with new groups of people, as I'm sure you gathered. So if you're going to have people over, even like a small group, or just one or two, just warn me ahead of time. Tell me their names, who they are. Then I'll at least know, if I answer the door."  
  
Harry nods, eyes telling Zayn to continue.  
  
"Don't touch my stuff, if it's out here in a shared space. I don't like it when I put something somewhere and then it's moved and I can't find it. I'm not messy, or careless with my stuff, but still. Just thought I should say it. Don't go in my room when I'm not here. Uh, if my girlfriend Sara is over, be respectful. She's doesn't like being talked to like 'just a girlfriend,' or some 'chick.' Same with my family, if they're ever here, just be nice to them," he finishes, with a shrug.  
  
"Can I be honest with you?" Harry says thoughtfully.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"The fact that you have to say any of this, like it's a rulebook, like it's stuff I wouldn't already do, makes me sad for you."  
  
If Zayn didn't know any better, he would think Harry is about to reach out and grab his hands, hold on to him, touch him. So he pulls his hands into his lap quickly.  
  
"What do you mean?" Zayn says nervously.  
  
"You must've had a really, _really_ shitty roommate before, Zayn. Like he must've been a fucking prick," Harry says, serious now, angry. "I won't disrespect you, or your personal property. I'll be kind to you and let you know who strangers are, before inviting them into your home. I'll be nice to your girlfriend _and_ your family, because human beings should be nice to other human beings."  
  
Zayn can tell Harry's anger is directed at Stephen, which makes him smile. He can't help it.  
  
"Thanks," he says, looking down at his hands. "I appreciate you saying that."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Harry smiles at him again. He glances to his right, towards the apartment, towards his bedroom, no doubt wondering if the conversation is over, if he can go to his room now. But Zayn shakes his head.  
  
"Go on, then. Now you go, tell me your rules," Zayn says, waving his hand a little.  
  
"Uh," Harry says, scrunching up his face, thinking. "I don't know if I have any."  
  
"Yes you do. Everyone has rules. And if you don't, you need to get some, Harry. You should always set a standard for yourself," he says hurriedly, leaning in.  
  
"Okay," Harry chuckles, still thinking. "Well, I guess… I guess don't go in my room either, when I'm not here?"  
  
Zayn stares at him. He won't let Harry leave yet, and Harry must sense it, so he sighs, thinking harder.  
  
"Well, I think my only rule, in life, for myself and for those around me, is to have an open mind. We're not meant to be confined in boxes, you know? We should all be honest, but also open to the things around us, right? So like, my only rule, is to not have too many rules."  
  
Zayn stares at him.  
  
"So that's my rule, Zayn. My rule for you. Have an open mind, and trust me," he says finally, nodding his head once.  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"That's it."  
  
Zayn almost comes back at him, telling him it's bullshit. Harry must have something that annoys him to no end, some rule he makes his friends and family adhere to. Zayn can't be the only person in this apartment with a set of guidelines.  
  
But as he looks at Harry harder, as he stares him down, trying to break through this hippy ass facade Harry wears, he finds himself seeing less and less of one. It seems like this "act" isn't actually an act. Harry Styles really is just… _like this._ He's a kid with holes in his jeans and a scarf around his head, a kid who does yoga and feels energy when he walks into a room. It's not an act, it's just Harry.  
  
Zayn hates to admit it, but now that he's seeing him fully, he almost admires it.  
  
"Okay, well… if I do something that bothers you, or you want to set a rule for me in the future, just let me know, I guess," Zayn shrugs, still looking at Harry intensely.  
  
"Understood," Harry smiles, before getting up from the table. He bends down to roll up his yoga mat, and Zayn notices again how tiny his shorts are. They're bordering on obscene. He has to look away.  
  
Later when he's in his bed, the moonlight streaming through the blinds, bouncing off every surface in his room, Zayn thinks about Harry and how he is who he is. Now that he's accepted the person Harry is, the positivity Harry puts out into the world, Zayn actually appreciates it. He also thinks again that having Harry around might not be too bad. It might be nice, to be around someone who is nice and respectful, but also so different from Zayn, different to the point of being able to teach him a few things.  
  
Zayn decides to crumple up the "Do I Hate Harry Styles?" list in his head, as he rolls over, deciding he doesn't need it anymore. He really doesn't want to hate his roommate, not again.

  
  
***

  
As it turns out, Harry Styles wasn't exactly telling the truth about himself. Zayn knows this, as he surveys the living room a month after Harry moved in. Harry is a dirty, rotten liar.  
  
Well. That's not exactly fair. Because Zayn has totally unreasonable standards. He can't say Harry is messy, or loud, _per se._ He's just not especially neat or quiet. Zayn knows he's ridiculous, knows he holds people to an impossible standard they can never actually achieve. The only way he would see someone as neat or quiet would be if a person had exactly zero belongings and happened to be deaf-mute.  
  
Zayn walks around the living room and sees touches of Harry everywhere. His yoga mat is rolled up and perched against the lamp by the sliding glass door, a pair of his shoes next to it. The candle he insists on burning sits in the corner. Harry decided to hang up a few small paintings, weird little things he got at a garage sale. There's even a small circular rug in the kitchen now, this ugly woven thing he said his favorite neighbor on his old block gave him, some old man who just wanted to give a piece of his house to Harry before he moved. It's horrendous.  
  
Zayn also hears Harry singing in the shower, his voice traveling through the apartment. It's gravely, rough, but also sincere and clear. He's singing "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" by Whitney Houston, doing the high pitched screams as well.  
  
It is literally the stupidest thing Zayn's ever heard, so it should annoy Zayn, all of it should, but it doesn't.  
  
He smiles to himself as he sets his bag down near the shitty brown couch that's so comfortable, he's found himself falling asleep on it almost every night this week, only going to his room when Harry shakes his shoulder lightly and nudges him off it.  
  
Zayn grabs a beer from the fridge before sitting down, drinking it slowly, as the TV plays softly. He wonders if he should text Sara, to see if she wants to study with him, or read next to each other. But he doesn't. She's probably working. And at any rate, he doesn't want to sit around and watch her and Harry fall more in love, becoming fast and best friends without him. He smiles to himself.  
  
The day after Harry moved in, Sara came over to introduce herself and she absolutely tripped over herself, she became so enamored with Harry and his weird fucking ideas. Harry asked if her name had an H on the end, which she promptly said no to, her name simply being Sara. Harry told her he absolutely loves names with four even letters, that's why he loves Zayn's name so much, and went on to explain why he likes even numbers better than odd numbers. He showed her the random shit he had hanging in his room, from trips to various places around the country.  
  
He even showed her the crystals in his pocket, something Zayn hadn't seen up until that point, so he moved closer to Sara to see the rocks Harry held out in his palm.  
  
"I carry blue quartz when I need to feel calm," he says, offering them the small light blue stone, ridged edges. "And then if I'm feeling overwhelmed or like I have too much pressure on my chest, I carry this black onyx. It gives you strength, see?"  
  
The smooth black stone doesn't reflect light and is bigger than the blue quartz. Zayn likes it, it seems dark, but also sleek. He moves it around in his fingers, feeling it.  
  
"One of my favorites is the bloodstone, though. It's good for your energy levels. It centers you," he says, holding up the small dark stone with flecks of red in it.  
  
Sara sat transfixed, asking Harry question after question about why he carries the stones, what they mean to him, how he knows all this. Apparently Harry's parents are quite the hippies themselves, so Harry grew up with this kind of stuff. In fact, his parents didn't make him wear shoes until he was forced to wear them at school when he was five. That's why he prefers to be barefoot now, if he can help it.  
  
"But the most important stone I have, I wear around my neck. It's my clear quartz pendant. You can't touch it, only I can touch it. It's important to have a crystal like this close to your heart, to absorb any negative energy, something no one else can touch or affect, you know?"  
  
By then, Zayn started to tune out. It's nice and all that, believing crystals make your life fuller and richer, removing negative emotions around you, but Harry spoke so highly of it, it started to make Zayn feel uncomfortable. So he sat back and let Sara pester him with questions, gripping Zayn's hand tighter whenever Harry said something especially engaging. He laughed at how intense they both became.  
  
So now on the couch, as Harry continues to sing Whitney Houston in the bathroom, Zayn sighs, wondering if Sara will ever come over just for him ever again, if Sara will ever fuck him without wondering what Harry's up to in the next room, crazy, interesting, Harry.  
  
He would be mad, but it was kind of sweet, seeing two people in his life connect over something so outside of his realm. He drinks his beer lazily, as Harry finally opens the bathroom door, waltzing down the hall to his room, still singing. Zayn can't see him, but he guesses that he's probably dancing as he walks.  
  
Zayn wonders then, if his list of rules are slowly deteriorating, and if he's even upset about it. Harry leaves random things in the living room. He doesn't always put the dishes away in the order Zayn likes, but he puts them away at least. He's not quiet by any means, constantly walking around the place rambling about weird things he sees through out the day, singing song after song of random music, no semblance of a favorite genre or artist. He sings Whitney, The Cure, Duran Duran, and even some Keith Urban when he's feeling especially jaunty.  
  
Harry does yoga all the time, sometimes in his room, but mostly in the living room because it's "more open." Zayn caught him doing it naked once, as he walked in the door when his class got out early. He saw Harry's bare ass, the long slope of his back, his strong thighs, as he held himself up with his extended arms underneath him, dick probably swinging in his face. Zayn squawked, flailing his arms around not knowing what to do, but Harry just laughed and said hello, as Zayn ran into his room.  
  
Every piece of Harry's clothing has a hole in it, picked up from random estate sales or second hand stores. His jeans are too tight. He has a candle for every room of the apartment now, except for Zayn's. He touches everything, likes to hold things in his hands. Sometimes he knocks on Zayn's door and walks right in, babbling about classes he's taking, papers he's writing, books he's reading, completely ignores when Zayn is studying. He runs his hands over the books on his shelf, walks around his room like he owns the place, puts Zayn's hats on his head, one after the other, for fun. Zayn lets him do it.  
  
Harry even grabs for Sara's hand sometimes, when he gets excited about whatever song comes on the speakers when they all sit in the living room together. She excitedly grabs him back. Harry pulls her up to dance every so often, as Zayn watches, laughing to himself.  
  
All of a sudden it feels like Harry has weaseled his way into every nook and cranny of Zayn's apartment, his life, his relationship.  
  
As Zayn finishes his beer, as he smiles again at Harry's high notes coming from his room, it doesn't seem too bad. Not yet, anyways.

  
  
***

  
They've lived together for two months when they get high for the first time. Zayn had spent the last few weeks stressed out of his mind, his classes getting to him, day after day of stress, while Harry wanders around, flitting from class to class like it's fun. Zayn doesn't even know what "fun" means when it comes to school, he has to work so hard at it. He briefly wonders if Harry takes any random class that "speaks to him," wonders if any of them will even fit together to make a cohesive degree after four years, but he doesn't say anything. It's not his business.  
  
Besides, Harry pays his rent, he pays the bills, he hasn't had a party, or even had a friend over to the apartment. He's done everything Zayn asked, for the most part, so Zayn can't really complain or get on Harry for not being stressed enough, if that's even a thing.  
  
So when Harry comes to him holding a joint one Friday night, Zayn very nearly hugs him.  
  
"Thought you might need this," Harry says muffled, lips around the joint, as he lights it up. Zayn kicks back in one of the shitty plastic chairs on the balcony, pulling the ashtray closer to them for when they need it.  
  
"Thanks, Haz. You're a fucking life saver," Zayn says, taking it from him and taking a hit. He takes a second hit soon after, hopes Harry doesn't mind, and hands it back.  
  
They sit in silence, passing it back and forth, as the sounds of the city move around them. Someone in their building must be having a party, the bass line of a song coming up to the balcony as they smoke.  
  
Zayn feels warm, even as the crisp fall air nips at him. He feels like the hoodie he's wearing is constricting him, so he throws it off, joining Harry in all his topless glory. Harry walks around like it's summer all the time, which Zayn actually finds to be endearing. Harry chases the sun even when it's cloudy, it seems, and that's admirable.  
  
"How you been lately?" Harry says slowly, turning his head to look at Zayn.  
  
"Just a lot of shit happening these days. Lot of shit, you know?" he says lazily back, turning to look at Harry now.  
  
"You should carry my black onyx in your pocket. It'll help you."  
  
"Sure, Haz. Whatever you say," Zayn smiles.  
  
His smile doesn't last though, as the worry creeps back onto his face. He just feels so tense, so nervous. He's anxious over his classes, over the fact that this is his last year, the last year to make it count.  
  
Harry looks at him again. He moves his chair closer to Zayn's, to place his hand on Zayn's shoulder. He holds him tight for a moment, before moving his hand, gripping the back of Zayn's neck, massaging the tight muscle there. Zayn can't even help it, his head falls forward to his chest as he exhales. Harry works his hand across his neck, back to his shoulder, using his fingers to work the kinks out. Zayn's so grateful, he feels himself wordlessly move his entire body, so his back is to Harry now.  
  
Harry doesn't miss a beat, he moves even closer, now putting both hands on Zayn's shoulders. He uses his thumbs to roughly work at the muscles along Zayn's neck, his upper back, under his shoulder blades. Zayn can feel the knots loosening, his entire body relaxing. It's the weed, the high, but it's also Harry, his hands.  
  
Zayn briefly wonders about energy and if Harry's positive energy is physically moving into Zayn by way of his hands. It's ridiculous, stupid really, but he feels lighter. He feels himself unraveling.  
  
It's really fucking nice.  
  
"You shouldn't let yourself get so tense," Harry whispers, hands moving.  
  
"I know," Zayn says, as his head falls forward again. He almost falls asleep it feels so good, the roughness of it, the feeling of his body being moved around without his brain telling it to.  
  
But they snap out of it, of this trance they're both in, when they hear a key in the door. Sara had told Zayn she was coming over for the night. So Harry delicately removes his hands, with a final squeeze to Zayn's biceps, and moves back to sit fully in his chair. Zayn swivels around again, to rest in his chair like before, giving Harry what he hopes is a grateful and earnest look.  
  
Sara opens the sliding door and comes out, wrinkling her nose slightly at the smell of smoke, and sits in Zayn's lap. He holds her around the waist, lets her kiss him once, before she pulls away and asks Harry about his day.  
  
Zayn sits quietly as they talk, as Harry tells her about the sweet old man who came into the coffee shop earlier, the one he works in after class some days, the stories he told him about his old army days. Sara listens, that look of awe on her face, as Harry tells her all about John W. State. Zayn tries to pay attention, to listen to the words Harry is saying, but he can't because all he can focus on now are Harry's hands.  
  
He's always talked with them, waved his delicate little fingers around when he gets excited. But now that Zayn knows how strong they are, how so _not_ delicate they actually turned out to be, he can't look away. Harry wears these really dumb rings, rings he hasn't told them the meaning of yet because everything in Harry's life has meaning. The flash of silver catches on the light, and Zayn feels like he's trying to watch a flying bee buzz around his head, only catching glimpses of it every few seconds.  
  
Zayn hates himself for it, he swears he does, but later that night, as he pushes into Sara, he thinks about strong hands. Sara is so delicate, so small, she doesn't touch Zayn with roughness or intent. When she holds onto his shoulders when she comes, she doesn't grip him. His muscles don't feel a thing.  
  
He comes across her stomach, eyes closed, envisioning hands on his back.  
  
Three days later when he's waiting in line for coffee, holding Sara's hand, Zayn reaches into the pocket of his favorite jeans for his wallet and is surprised to feel the smooth black onyx crystal, pressing against his skin.  
  
He smiles.

  
  
***

  
A few weeks later, Harry tells Zayn for the first time that he's going to have a friend visit. He very politely approaches Zayn in the kitchen and says his friend Matt is coming over. They know each other through their history class, he's very nice, he plays the drums, and Zayn should know he'll probably stay the night.  
  
Zayn shrugs his shoulders as he washes the dishes from their dinner, because whatever, Harry can have people over. He graciously did as Zayn asked and told him first, gave a few details. He also, in so few words, informed Zayn about his sexuality once and for all.  
  
So when Zayn answers the door an hour later to see a tanned, muscular guy with a bright smile, he ushers him in and introduces himself, before pointing down the hall to Harry's room.  
  
Zayn sits on the couch and turns up the TV as high as it'll go, not knowing if Harry will do as he says and not make noise. He drinks three beers rather quickly, as well.  
  
But it does nothing because that night as he tries to fall asleep, he hears all of it. They're not loud, or obnoxious, or even rude about it. But when you're listening for something, when you strain your ears so hard and so forcefully, willing yourself to hear what you want to hear, you'll definitely hear it.  
  
Zayn hears their breathing, the moans escaping Harry's lips. He hears one distinct bang against the wall, as if one of them pinned the other against it, and then the shush from Harry right afterwards. He hears the shifting of bodies, bodies flipping on Harry's shitty bed, springs straining underneath them. He hears Harry whine, a sound he's never heard a guy make before, this mix between guttural and breathy, this weird combination right in the middle. It's a sound Zayn decides he never wants to hear again.  
  
So he presses his pillow on either side of his head, to the point it almost hurts, because he doesn't want to hear the sounds that come after the sound Harry just made, the sounds sure to follow from both of them, as they climax together.  
  
Zayn doesn't want to hear anymore.  
  
Harry is a dirty, rotten liar. Because he's not quiet. He's not quiet at all.

  
  
***

  
Harry tries to talk to him the next morning, as he walks into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee, as Zayn is turned away from him at the stove. Zayn won't turn around because he doesn't want to know how half naked Harry probably is, doesn't want to see his face, or his smile, or the marks probably on his chest and back. He doesn't want to hear Harry and he doesn't want to see Harry, not now.  
  
Harry tries to engage him again, tries to ask about his weekend, what he's up to, where Sara is.  
  
Zayn ignores him completely, until Harry sighs, defeated, and goes back to his room.  
  
Zayn leaves the apartment soon after, deciding he'll spend the day in the library, alone and in a completely quiet room, a Harry Styles-less room with no noise.

  
  
***

  
Everything starts to feel overwhelming after that, after the night Harry has a guy over. It's like suddenly Zayn's classes all hit him at once, each one of them getting harder and more intense. He has projects to finish, papers to write, books to read. None of them are letting up and he finds himself pacing in his room more often than not, running his to-do list over and over in his mind, not knowing where to even start. Harry still won't let up, still walks around the apartment, babbling about nonsense, asking Zayn what's wrong, if he can help. But Zayn just sighs and says no, Harry can't do anything.  
  
Sara can sense it, can sense he's stressed. He gets angry at her for no reason, for looking at him in a "weird way," or calling him too much. Even when he apologizes, when he whispers it into her neck as they try to fall asleep, that he's sorry for being so anxious and stupid all the time, she only rubs his hair a little before turning away from him. Whenever they're together now, it's like they wear permanent frowns.  
  
They stop having sex almost entirely.  
  
Harry senses it all, can sense the tension between them whenever Sara leaves in a huff, can sense the tension Zayn can't stop carrying around. They didn't talk after Harry had a guy over, didn't discuss it at all, so things between them have been a little weird.

But it doesn't stop Harry some nights when it feels especially shitty. He'll silently pull Zayn up from the couch, or the kitchen table surrounded by books, or his desk, and stand behind him to rub his shoulders. He'll push his thumbs into Zayn's skin so roughly, Zayn feels the sharp pain all the way to his toes. He chases it though, let's Harry remove the kinks however he wants. He lets his head hang down, lets his body relax under Harry's strong hands.  
  
Those nights are the most productive, and those nights he actually sleeps soundly.

  
  
***

  
Zayn tells his mom a few weeks later, when he goes home for the weekend, how good it's been living with a person like Harry, a person who can't help but see the good in any situation. He levels Zayn out, makes him feel better when something gets him worked up. She smiles and holds his arm, because she knows him, and knows what he's really saying.  
  
But nothing ever goes how you think it'll go, because Zayn's just as surprised as anyone when he gets back Sunday morning to a trashed apartment.  
  
He walks in, bag over his shoulder, to see bottles and red cups all over the carpet and coffee table. There's a bong on the table, pizza boxes on the counter tops in the kitchen, sticky alcohol seeping across the linoleum. Zayn looks around, can barely move he's so angry, at the shit strewn all over the place.  
  
He legitimately thinks he's going to murder Harry Styles, so he practically runs to his room, busting in the door.  
  
Louis is in Harry's bed, shirtless, drool all over the pillow and Niall's on the floor, curled around Harry's body pillow, snoring, not a Harry in sight. Zayn can feel his hands clenching into fists, wondering where that little fuck face is, when it dawns on him. He prays he's wrong.  
  
Zayn walks to his own door and pushes it open, to find Harry in his bed, completely naked, face down. His comforter and sheets are a tangled mess around him, there are more cups and random clothes on his floor. He sees his shelf of hats has been knocked off the wall, his snapbacks and beanies everywhere. He notices his desk is a mess, his books and notebooks knocked over, his iMac laying screen side down.  
  
If nothing else, Zayn vows that if his screen is cracked, if his computer is broken, if he's lost even one thing from his hard drive, he will honestly and genuinely kick Harry's ass. He will beat the shit out of him.  
  
Harry groans and rolls over, realizing he's not alone, covers himself with the sheet.  
  
Harry sits up, looks at the room around him, before finally looking at Zayn, bewildered.  
  
They stare at each other for a long time.  
   
 


	2. Chapter 2

Zayn has always had a steady hand. He doesn't shake in fear, his hand has never betrayed him when trying to make a straight line with a paint brush, his mind, for the most part, is clear. He doesn't let extenuating circumstances shake him, he's never been the one to shy away from anything difficult, and even when he has a long to-do list that stresses him out, rest assured it'll all be handled. He hates large crowds, but he won't let anyone know it, won't show it on his face.  
  
Zayn Malik doesn't shake in fear, in anger, in defiance, ever. He's steady. Solid.  
  
So when Harry stares at him from his own goddamn bed, a look of panic on his face, a look that tells Zayn he'd be shaking in his boots if he were wearing any, Zayn doesn't move, doesn't twitch, doesn't falter. When he holds his hand up as Harry starts to speak, quieting him immediately, his arm is steady.  
  
He holds up one finger, just one, to shut Harry Styles the fuck up. Harry's mouth snaps closed, staring at him.  
  
"You have one hour," Zayn says, still holding up his index finger, arm still as a statue, voice level.  
  
Harry nods, as Zayn turns and leaves the apartment.

  
  
***

  
Zayn paces around Sara's bedroom, clenching his fists over and over, extending his fingers, clenching them. Extending his fingers, clenching them. Zayn doesn't shake when he's angry, but he can walk in circles all day, if you let him. Sara sits at her desk, attempting to highlight various notes for her psychology class, hardly looking at him.  
  
"I fucking swear, Sara. I really fucking swear it. If my computer is broken, if I've lost anything, I'm going to fuck him up. I will fuck him up so badly, they won't be able to identify him at the morgue."  
  
"Will you settle down, please?" she says, still looking at her notes.  
  
"Will you look at me, please?" he says, finally standing next to her, eyes fierce.  
  
She sighs and looks up at him, her hair held back in a messy bun, her sweat pants cuffed around her small ankles.  
  
"What do you want me to say, Zayn? He had a party while you were gone. Talk to him, maybe he didn't mean for it to happen, maybe it got out of control."  
  
He glares at her, for defending him.  
  
"And if he broke your computer, he'll fix it. He's Harry, Zayn. He wouldn't fuck you over. He adores you, he wouldn't disappoint you on purpose," she finishes with a knowing smile, turning back to her desk, leaving him be.  
  
"You're not making me feel better at all. Why won't you let me vent to you?" he says, hands on his hips.  
  
"You should go."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I have to study, and you're distracting me. Go home to Harry, Zayn," she says, sweet smile still on her face, still not looking his way. She grabs his fingers for a moment and squeezes, nudging him towards the door.  
  
Zayn can't believe his ears, can't believe Sara, his Sara, won't let him do this. He needs someone to talk to, someone he can be honest with, and all she wants to do is send him away. He wants to be angry at Harry, to say everything that's bothering him, and all she has to say is how much Harry adores him and doesn't want to disappoint him.  
  
He's seething as he grabs his bag and walks out.

  
  
***

  
Luckily Liam lets Zayn vent to him over the phone, on his way back to the apartment. He vents, he spews every negative thought he's ever had for Harry Styles, every single thing he does that annoys him. He says Harry's a liar, he's not quiet, he's not neat, he walks into every room and just starts talking before he even reads it, before he gauges if anyone even wants to hear his voice. He's a flower child. He wears fucking head scarves. Who does he think he is, Keith Richards? _Please._  
  
Liam is a lot like Zayn, in that he can be intense and headstrong too, so he very smartly shuts his mouth and lets Zayn talk. He maybe says four words the entire conversation, which Zayn appreciates.  
  
Liam is a good friend, he decides as he hangs up, climbing the stairs to his building, after the hour he allowed Harry to clean up his mess. From now on, instead of calling Sara, he's calling Liam. That should concern him, but he shakes the thought away.  
  
Zayn takes a deep steadying breath before pushing open the front door, the door with all the odd numbers that add up to thirteen. He steps inside and sees the living room is clear. He walks into the kitchen, sees it's completely rid of party debris. The floor isn't done the way Zayn does it, so he hangs his head and sighs, knowing he'll have to do it himself this afternoon. He was going to use the afternoon to finish his recent design project, but apparently not.  
  
He takes another deep breath, prays to whatever fucking god is up there, as he pushes open the door to his bedroom. Harry is still half naked, only in a pair of small shorts, turned away from him, putting nails for the floating shelf back into the wall, the shelf that held all of Zayn's hats.  
  
Harry hasn't noticed him yet, so Zayn looks around at everything else, at his made bed, his clean floor, his desk. He almost keels over in relief, when he sees his iMac is fine, undamaged, upright and pristine like always. It's the breath he lets out then, the huge exhale, that causes Harry to jump and turn around, nails sticking out of his mouth, hammer in hand.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," he says in a rush, grabbing at the nails with his fingers, hair flying around him as he comes closer. "I'm sorry, Zayn. I don't even know what happened. Louis and Niall came over, and then people just started showing up, and it got crazy. I was drunk, I didn't know, I didn't know people came in your room, I would've stopped them, I swear. I just wasn't thinking."  
  
"Did you fuck someone in my bed?" Zayn hears himself ask, the first question that pops into his head, apparently the one question he needs to know the answer to first and foremost.  
  
Harry furrows his brow and shakes his head in a rush.  
  
"What? No, Zayn. No. I remember going to my room and seeing Louis in my bed, and I just stumbled around and came in here. I fell asleep alone. I'm sorry, I know I'm not allowed in here when you're not home. I'm sorry."  
  
Zayn can see his chin trembling, can hear his voice starting to shake. Harry let him down and he knows it.  
  
"I told you not to have parties. That was a rule," he says, emotionless.  
  
"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," Harry says, reaching for him, grabbing his arm like the first day they met. He holds him in his grasp, squeezes, applies pressure.  
  
Zayn feels like his mind and his body forge a connection again, reconnect somehow. Because he feels Harry holding his arm, he feels it down to his toes, and suddenly he's not angry anymore. He's still annoyed, he's really tired, but the anger seeps out of him.  
  
"S'alright, Haz. It's fine," he says with a sigh.  
  
Harry looks like he's going to cry, as his body caves in on itself, as his shoulders fall from around his ears back to where they're supposed to be, relaxed again. It's like his mind and body forged a connection again, too. Because he drops the nails and hammer onto Zayn's bed and pulls at his arm, until they're chest to chest, hugging in the middle of Zayn's room.  
  
Harry holds him so close, so firmly, Zayn feels like his head is spinning. He hasn't had this type of hug in a long time, maybe he never even has. Because he feels it, he feels his blood pumping in his veins, his adrenaline rushing, as Harry holds on. He has an arm around his shoulders and an arm around his torso, his fingers dig into Zayn's skin, his strong fingers, the hands Zayn lets touch him when he's overwhelmed.  
  
So he holds on tight, he holds Harry back, knowing he needs it. He thinks about energies again, if his energy is flowing into Harry, converging with Harry's, as they stand there and hug. Harry's energy levels him, has since the day he waltzed in and walked in a circle, feeling the space around him. Maybe Zayn's energy levels Harry right back.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry says into his shoulder, muffled against his shirt.  
  
"I know," Zayn says back, quietly.  
  
"I don't ever want you to be mad at me. I hate when you're mad, you know?"  
  
"I know."  
  
"And if you want me to redo the kitchen floor, or if you want to show me how to do it correctly, the Zayn Malik way… that might be good," he says, as Zayn hears the smile in his voice.  
  
Zayn laughs at that, finally, as Harry holds him tighter.  
  
"I'll show you how," he says into Harry's shirt, still smiling.

  
  
***

  
Zayn shows Harry how to do things the rest of the afternoon. He gets Harry on his hands and knees with him in the kitchen, showing him how to correctly scrub the floor. He shows Harry the specific cleaner to use, where the bucket is, how to get underneath the fridge.  
  
He shows Harry how to vacuum the right way, to get the desired "mowed lawn" effect he loves so much. Harry perches himself on the couch as Zayn makes his way around the living room, picking up the remnants of the party Harry missed the first time he vacuumed while Zayn was gone.  
  
They wash every window in the apartment, wipe down all the mirrors, dust every surface. Zayn shows Harry the right way to do it all, in the right order. Harry listens so intently, watches every move Zayn makes.  
  
Harry makes them take a break late in the afternoon, a "yoga break" he says will be good for them. He only makes Zayn do the easy stretches, including the first move Zayn saw Harry do, their small asses side by side in the air, Zayn huffing into the mat by his hands as he stretches the back of his legs. They do one with their legs curled under them, arms stretched out in front, palms on the floor, breathing deeply. Zayn hates to admit it, but it does make him feel a little looser, a little better.  
  
Once Harry tries to get Zayn to "appreciate the energy around them," Zayn rolls his eyes and gets up, heading to his bedroom, waving for Harry to follow.  
  
Harry has Zayn stand back as he puts Zayn's hat shelf back up, to tell him if he needs to level it out on the right, if it's exactly above the small bookshelf, exactly centered like it was before. Zayn directs him, as Harry bangs nails into the wall, almost taking his finger off once or twice, which makes Zayn laugh. Zayn shows Harry how he likes to line his hats up, which ones go closest to the desk and which ones are his favorite. He shows Harry the Dodgers hat his dad bought him when he was twelve, his most prized possession. Harry holds it like it's made of glass, as Zayn tells him the story of the day he caught a foul ball and the cameras cut to him, waving it around in his hand with the hat perched on his head.  
  
They work and work and work until the sun goes down, until they both collapse on the shitty brown couch together. They look around at the pristine apartment, admiring it. Neither of them say anything, but it's clear: even if it started out rough, it was a good day.  
  
Zayn lazily puts his hand out, for Harry to give him a low five. But Harry is Harry, so he instead takes his hand and holds it, as they look around some more, as they see the vacuum lines in the carpet starting to fade.  
  
That's what Sara sees, when she comes over late that night, Zayn and Harry asleep on their couch, holding hands, in an apartment smelling like Lysol and the cedarwood candle in the corner.  
  
She smiles slightly, before retreating back into the hall, letting the door click shut as quietly as she can.

  
  
***

  
Sara doesn't come over as much. She says Zayn can come see her if he wants to, but he rarely does, not anymore. They both become too busy.  
  
He gets high with Harry every Friday night for a month, lets Harry rub his shoulders each and every time, his head falling to his chest as the wind whips around them on the balcony, as the nights get colder and colder the closer they get to the holidays, the closer they get to finals.  
  
Zayn practically makes a dent in the carpeting in his bedroom, from the path he makes from his constant pacing leading up to the final week of the semester. Harry isn't fazed by school, which Zayn has become used to. Harry barely goes to class as it is, let alone gets nervous about tests or papers. But Zayn studies vigorously enough for the both of them, for hours at a time, and he's pretty sure he wouldn't be eating or showering, if Harry didn't come in every once and a while to remind him.  
  
So Zayn takes his finals, he aces every one of them, aces every final project he has, as Harry whoops and hollers around him. He dances in a circle around Zayn in the living room, wearing his tiny yellow shorts, after their last day, pulling at Zayn's arms until he raises them above his head and (very slightly) moves his hips to his favorite Jay Z song. Harry plays it for him three times, forcing him to dance over and over.  
  
When it comes time for them to both go home for the three week break between semesters, they hug for a good five minutes, talking into each others' shoulders, asking about plans and presents, nonsense, really.  
  
"Be good, don't get into any trouble," Zayn says finally, before he knows they need to pull away.  
  
"I won't. And try to relax. You deserve it, Zayn. Don't stress about even one thing, okay? Savor the time with your family, appreciate it, let it fill you up, yeah?" Harry says against his shirt.  
  
"Okay, Hazza," Zayn whispers, grabbing at the back of his shirt.

  
  
***

  
Zayn does as he's told and spends his time with his family, savoring each and every moment, even the fights between his sisters. His family makes him anxious sometimes. He usually retreats to his room every few hours to be alone, headphones on his head, planning ahead for the coming semester, wrapping his head around it early.  
  
But this time, he helps his dad resolve their fights, gets in the middle before they really start yelling. He forces them to laugh about dumb stuff, to get their minds off bickering, and it seems to work. His mom holds his hand for it, which makes him smile. They go and see movies, they go to the chilly beach. They spend time together at the house, have lazy afternoons, watch "Dexter" for hours. He talks to his dad about Boston, after the plan is set in motion, the plan he's anxious for, the plan he can't talk to Harry about just yet, and it's all going the way it's supposed to.  
  
He doesn't stress out. He lets himself relax. He savors the time, lets it fill him up. He texts Harry constantly to see how he is, to see what he's up to. Harry doesn't respond often, probably savoring his own family time, but when he does, it's always a long, detailed response. He tells Zayn he wants to meet his crazy family, wants to meet the girls, so Zayn assures him they'll visit soon.  
  
Zayn catches his mom staring at him a few times, as he texts on his phone, biting his thumb nail between his teeth, smiling. She doesn't say anything.  
  
If you asked Zayn how his break was, if it was everything he needed and more, he'd reply that it mostly was. It was the best break he's had in years, if he's being honest.

It's ironic then, that Sara breaks up with him at the end of it, making it all crash around him.  
  
She texts him the day before he was planning to head back, asking if they can "talk" when he gets in to the apartment. He narrows his eyes when he reads it, before telling his family he'll be leaving early after all. Why prolong the inevitable, you know? Zayn doesn't get nervous about it, doesn't get stressed, but he doesn't look forward to the conversation. He has a feeling certain emotions are going to spring up, will rear their ugly head, so he swiftly pushes it all away on his drive back to school.  
  
Walking into a Harry-less apartment is weird. It smells the same, the weird mixture between Zayn's cologne and Harry's candle concoctions in every room. As Zayn throws his bags onto his bed, he notices the new candle sitting on his desk, some sage aromatherapy candle he's sure Harry left him as a present. He rolls his eyes, but it's out of fondness more than anything.  
  
Sara knocks on the front door a few minutes later, which in and of itself is weird, her not just coming in like normal. But Zayn indulges her, lets her in, before sitting together on the couch. He's still not nervous, still not stressed, but the feeling he feared before takes over him, a feeling that settles deep in his gut. It makes his stomach hurt. He doesn't like it. It's the same feeling he had right before Stephen moved out, now that he thinks about it. So he looks up to her, uses his eyes to tell her _just say it._  
  
"I love you, you know," she says, grabbing his hand.  
  
"I love you," he says back, squeezing her fingers.  
  
"But you can feel it too, right? You can feel we're not in this like we used to be?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess," he says, looking down at their hands.  
  
"I want us both to be happy, Zayn. I want us to have all the things we want, you know? I don't know what I want, not exactly, not yet. And it's scary, not knowing… but I think you know, deep down, that you don't want me anymore."  
  
Zayn can feel his face getting hotter, his cheeks reddening. He knows, but he doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to feel anything for anyone but Sara. They don't see each other like they used to, they hardly spend time together. They haven't touched each other in weeks. But he doesn't want to not be with Sara. He doesn't want to be alone.  
  
He doesn't want to feel other feelings, he doesn't want to think about anyone else. He doesn't want any of it.  
  
She squeezes his hand tighter.  
  
"So you be happy, okay? You be happy however you need to be happy. With whoever you want, Zayn," she says, pulling his face up, to look her in the eye.  
  
He looks at her, really looks at her, sees her eyes watering. He nods, because she knows. She knows he has a feeling in his gut, a feeling that makes his stomach hurt, a feeling he really doesn't fucking want.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispers, as she pulls his head forward, hugging him.  
  
"Don't be sorry, babe. You can't help who you have feelings for, it's okay," she shushes him, as his face gets hotter.  
  
He hugs her back. They sit together on the couch, hold hands, let the silence settle around them. Zayn can't help but feel like this isn't fair, the fact that he loves Sara but can't be with her anymore. She's so ingrained in who he is, the adult he's become. She's been around since the first day of school. She held his hand before every test, before every huge party filled with strange people, before every stressful situation.  
  
She used to be the one to hug him, the one telling him to relax, the one touching his body to center him.  
  
That thought, more than anything else, makes Zayn want to curl up in a ball for a week and not move.  
  
They pack up random things from Zayn's room, clothes and books she's left over, mementos from little trips they've taken. She quietly takes her hat off Zayn's hat shelf, the one he bought her at a Dodgers game. They give each other their apartment keys back.  
  
They promise to still talk, still see each other if it ever gets to be too much, and they both know they're telling the truth. On their best days, they were best friends who happened to sleep together sometimes.  
  
Sara gives him one last kiss, the sweet kiss she loves to give him, no tongue or urgency, the kiss he's become so accustomed to over the years, before she finally leaves.

  
  
***

  
Harry finds him that night, when he too comes back a day early, sitting on the couch, a beer in his hand. He has Harry's old iPod plugged in to the main speakers, so the song playing as Harry sets his shit down and assesses the situation is "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond, because of fucking course it is.  
  
Harry very quickly feels the room, knows Zayn isn't himself, that something is off. He gingerly makes his way to the couch. Before he can even open his mouth, before he can ask Zayn what's wrong, Zayn nods to the coffee table.  
  
Harry looks down and sees the silver house key.  
  
Zayn lets Harry hug him, lets his body fall into Harry's side. Harry's hands move up and down his back, his arms, through his hair, the back of his neck. Zayn shuts his eyes, feels it all, feels his hands. He doesn't want to, he knows it's getting heavy, the feeling sinking in his stomach Sara knew about before he did, but he lets it happen.  
  
"Okay," Harry says pulling back, serious look on his face. "What do we want to do?"  
  
"What?" Zayn asks quietly, sitting back to look at Harry's face. He looks well rested, tan, beautiful.  
  
"Pick your poison. Do you want to get drunk? Get totally shit faced? We can go out. Or we can smoke outside, chill out here. We can eat a ton of food, get totally sick with it, whatever you want to eat, whatever you're craving. I have a molly we could split?"  
  
Zayn appreciates it so much, Harry trying to mend him. He smiles.  
  
"Let's get drunk," Harry decides for him, grabbing for his hand, pulling him to his feet.  
  
"Whatever you say, Hazza."  
  
They're out the door before Zayn can turn off the music. So the last thing he hears as they make their way down the hall is Eddie Money singing about taking someone home tonight, which Zayn rolls his eyes at.

  
  
***

  
Zayn doesn't remember much from the night before, his first night as a single guy in college. Normally he doesn't do crowded bars, especially bars where dancing is encouraged, but he learned long ago to just go with whatever Harry drags you into. It's easier, less hassle.  
  
He remembers drinking numerous shots at the bar, a few random drinks shoved into his hand by Harry and Louis. Niall showed up eventually, but Zayn doesn't remember talking to him much. Even Liam was there somehow. Maybe Harry called him? Texted him from Zayn's phone? He distinctly remembers Louis biting his neck once, playfully, leaving a mark.  
  
They danced to random rap music, music Zayn actually fucking likes, which is a nice change of pace from the stupid shit Harry's always playing around the apartment. A girl tried to hold his hand at one point, but Harry quickly pulled his arm away and held him in a close hug, whispered in his ear that he was so good, so amazing, so much better than everyone else around them.  
  
He remembers Harry's breath against his ear, along his neck, but he doesn't remember saying anything back. He doesn't remember how they got home, if Harry paid their tab, any of it.  
  
In any case, who the fuck cares, because his hangover is going to be a bitch. He rolls over in his bed, in nothing but his briefs, and chugs the bottle of water next to his shoes on the floor. He groans as he lays his head back against his pillow, hoping his phone and wallet made it back with him.  
  
Harry must be a psychic because when he looks over at his desk, he sees his phone charging next to his wallet, the window behind it open a crack to let fresh air in, another bottle of water.  
  
He smiles into his arm as he rolls over and falls back asleep.

  
  
***

  
He doesn't wake up again until well into the afternoon, and only then because he hears Harry walking past his door, singing another dumb country song. He doesn't want to see Harry, to think about food, or anything else in the kitchen, until he's showered and brushed his teeth. His breath is making him nauseous.  
  
So he does just that, cleans himself up, styles his hair the way Sara never liked, down and over his forehead, before walking into the living room in his sweats.  
  
And of course, there's Harry doing yoga in his tiny shorts on his orange mat, one leg out behind him, the opposite arm out in front of him, facing the floor, breathing through his nose. Zayn gets down on the floor and mimics his pose, closes his eyes, matches their breathing for a moment, let's himself feel it. Harry nudges him with his shoulder, before changing position. Zayn follows along as best he can.  
  
Harry has them do the warrior pose, one Zayn doesn't mind, as it opens his chest up. They face each other, their arms to their sides. Zayn can feel Harry eyeing him, wondering how he is, what he needs at the moment, so he just continues breathing with him, hoping his face conveys he doesn't want to talk about it. He wants to do fucking yoga, goddamn it. So they keep changing position, wherever Harry leads them.  
  
They end up on their backs, stretching their entire bodies like rubber bands, Zayn reaching and reaching, pointing his toes, feeling it in his stomach. He keeps breathing through it, just like Harry taught him, before Harry finally speaks.  
  
"Good, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah, s'good. You were right," Zayn says, stretching further.  
  
They bring their hands back in, crossing over their chests, looking at the ceiling for a few minutes.  
  
"I got you a present," Harry says, sitting up and making his way to the couch.  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, because of course Harry wasn't hung over this morning and of course he went out and got him something stupid. He joins him on the couch anyways.  
  
Harry digs through the pair of jeans thrown over the arm rest, before pulling out a little brown satchel. Zayn vaguely wonders if Harry got him drugs, not that he'd complain. But his question is answered when Harry undoes the string and pulls out a small smooth green stone, holding it in his palm for Zayn to see.  
  
"This is a green aventurine stone," he says quietly, rolling it around with his fingers. "It's lucky. It helps soothe emotional wounds, things that really gut us. It's an emotional anchor, something to tether you to your heart. And it's supposed to make the person holding it feel lighter, helps with your growth."  
  
Zayn looks at the stone in Harry's palm, the innocuous thing that's probably just a chunk of rock, a pretty chunk of green rock some asshole convinced people like Harry heals wounds, a rock he could throw in a drawer and never think about again.  
  
But as he looks up from the stone to see Harry's face, his open and honest face, the face he wanted to smack the first time he saw it, the face looking back at him with a smile, he feels his hand shake. As he reaches for the stone, he definitely sees his hand shake, which is new.  
  
"Thanks, Haz," he says, taking it, holding it. It's light. Smooth. He runs his thumb across it.  
  
"You're welcome. And you can keep carrying my onyx with it, if you want. You'll be big and strong in no time," he smiles.  
  
"You didn't have to get this for me today. You really didn't have to."  
  
Harry looks down, setting his jeans back on the arm of the couch.  
  
"I actually got it for you a few weeks ago," he says in a low tone.  
  
"So you thought a few weeks ago that my relationship was doomed to fail?" Zayn chuckles, still rolling the green rock around in his hand.  
  
"No," Harry looks back to him, face serious. "I just thought you might need a stone, a stone of your own. Make you feel lighter. If you want one."  
  
Zayn looks back at him, as Harry bites his lip. He's nervous. He thinks Zayn hates it. He thinks Zayn is mad about him getting it long before his break up. So Zayn doesn't even have to think about it, doesn't have to consider it at all, when he leans in and pulls Harry into a hug.  
  
They sit on the couch like that, close, hugging, the green stone in Zayn's hand, until they break a part and go their separate ways, into their separate bedrooms a few hours later.  
  
Zayn sets his new stone on his bedside table, vowing to put it in his pocket tomorrow morning. And every morning. Next to the black onyx. It might all be bullshit, but maybe it's the power of positive thinking and all that. And if Harry thinks he should carry it, if he believes it's lucky, then he'll put it in his pocket.  
  
Just because.

  
  
***

  
The spring semester starts up and Zayn feels the burden of it building, already crushing him. His classes are just as intense as the fall, just as stressful. It's his last semester, if he wants to graduate in May, so he has to be on top of his game. Unfortunately he hadn't anticipated having to take one last English class, so he begrudgingly signs up for an easy freshmen writing class, knowing he can do it in his sleep.  
  
His desk is already a mess of papers and books, various projects all over his room. He hasn't cleaned the kitchen in a few weeks, he realizes one night as he pulls at his hair, working on a design lay out in his room. He frantically gets up to go do it, to put on yellow gloves and scrub at the linoleum, when he sees Harry on his hands and knees already doing it.  
  
That Harry Styles is pretty perceptive when he wants to be, so he throws a pair of gloves to Zayn as he walks in, moving over to the left to let Zayn get down there with him. Zayn just sniffs wordlessly and scrubs away by the stove.  
  
They listen to The Pussycat Dolls coming from Harry's old iPod and Zayn can't help but laugh.  
  
The next morning, Zayn gets a text from his mom asking if the girls can come visit some weekend soon. He pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering if he can give up an entire weekend for his sisters, if he can afford to not have those precious hours to work on everything he needs to work on. But Harry comes up behind him and rests his chin on him, reading over his shoulder, before pinching at his sides.  
  
"You could probably do it in three weeks, right? You should have time then," he says decidedly, before walking away.  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, but he's absolutely fucking right, so he tells his mom just that. Three weeks it is.

  
  
***

  
It finally happens one night, one fateful night after Harry comes back to the apartment, running around in a circle like a fucking puppy, waving a piece of paper in Zayn's face.  
  
"I did it, Zayn. I finally fucking did it," he says in a rush, kicking off his shoes, taking off his shirt with some difficulty, getting down to just his jeans because he's a child and he hates feeling "constricted" by clothing if he can help it.  
  
"Did what?" Zayn says, annoyed, trying to grab the paper.  
  
"I decided, I finally decided. I made a choice. I don't always make choices, you know? I can be very flighty, you know this. I'm an Aquarius, after all," he says, still moving around the living room like a fucking maniac. Zayn reaches for the paper again, but Harry walks farther away.  
  
"Okay?"  
  
"I declared a major. I'm going to major in art history. All my credits line up for it, everything I've taken so far actually applies to it. But I'm going to be a historian. I'm going to know all about art and history, and art history," he says, turning to him, smiling, panting. "I'm not going to skip class anymore, either. I swear it. I'm going to go every day and listen so hard, Zayn."  
  
Zayn laughs, throws his head back, punching into the air. Harry actually has a major.  
  
"That's really good, Hazza. Look at you, all grown up and everything," he says, laughing, hands on his hips.  
  
"I even have the rest of my time at school planned out," he says, bouncing, shoving the paper at Zayn. "If I do what this says, I'll graduate in four years. Like, who would've thought?"  
  
Zayn takes the random paper from Harry's advisor, not really looking at it. But he laughs again, lets Harry walk in another circle around him, turning up his old iPod, letting Quietdrive's "Time After Time" cover swell around them.  
  
It happens then, as a stupid Cyndi Lauper cover amps up. Harry ends up in front of Zayn, Zayn ends up holding Harry's wrist, they're laughing, Harry's still panting slightly. It happens in a rush, but also in slow motion. It's out of control, but also contained.  
  
Somehow they end up close, Harry leaning down slightly, Zayn's face angled up. When Zayn thinks back on it later, he distinctly remembers the scent of Harry's mint gum hitting his face before Harry himself actually does.  
  
Their lips meet and Zayn tastes Harry for the first time, tastes his mouth, his voice, his fucking "energy." He tastes like gum, like Harry, like something Zayn can't place. He wonders what he tastes like, if the first person kissing him other than Sara for the last few years likes how he tastes.  
  
Their lips move, Harry holds his face, runs his palm against the scruff of Zayn's cheek before holding his jaw firmly. Zayn feels it down to his toes, this passionate kiss, nothing like the sweet ones he's accustomed to. It's rougher, harsher. He vaguely thinks, _wow I'm kissing a man, aren't I._  
  
They kiss and kiss, Harry's tongue opening up his mouth, licking across his bottom lip, biting him lightly. It's everything, like the world suddenly makes sense. And when Harry pulls away first, Zayn feels his entire body leaning forward, chasing after it, like his center of gravity is off. It feels like Harry is pulling at him, pulling him in. It's a pull.  
  
They stare at each other for a beat, before Harry gives him a small smile, hand still on Zayn's jaw, holding him in place, tethering his fucking body to the earth. Zayn is dumbfounded, he feels very unprepared for this. He feels Harry's rings warm against his skin.  
  
"Good, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah, s'good," Zayn says stupidly, nodding.  
  
Harry lets his face go and starts to step back, separating their bodies, but Zayn wants to say it.  
  
"I'm proud of you, for making a choice. For choosing something, for setting your standard," he says in a rush, still feeling like his body is falling forward, like his legs can't hold him up.  
  
"Thanks," Harry says, rubbing at the back of his neck, stepping backwards towards the hall. "Making choices is important. You were right."  
  
He gives Zayn a final look, a final stare-down, before turning and heading to his room.  
  
That night, Zayn scrubs the shower down twice and cleans the bathroom floor, filling the room with so much chemical fumes, he gets lightheaded and has to go back to his room before he can wipe down the counter again.

  
***

  
Surprising absolutely no one, Zayn's family absolutely love Harry Styles.  
  
When Trisha shows up with Waliyha and Safaa in tow, their blue and purple backpacks over their shoulders, Harry practically bounces out of his bedroom to greet them. He fawns over them, showers them with genuine compliments, tells the girls he'll take them anywhere they want to go. Zayn reminds him, yet again, his family has been to Los Angeles a thousand times over the years, the girls know it all already, that his parents only live twenty minutes south. But Safaa literally kicks his ass with her little foot, effectively telling him to shut up, as Harry leads her to the couch.  
  
Trisha gives Zayn a look, the look she reserves for her children whenever they're doing something they think she can't see, and Zayn has to look away from her before she figures out all his secrets.  
  
After his mom leaves, Zayn makes the girls a pizza, lets them drink the soda Harry insisted on buying for them, as the four of them sit around the table and talk about school. Harry listens, his head on his hands, to every word they say, asks questions about their friends, what they're into. When Safaa shyly says she likes Justin Timberlake, Harry holds up a finger and goes to his room. He comes back and puts on his old iPod, lets Justin's voice fill the entire apartment, way louder than Zayn usually lets him play anything. He rolls his eyes as Harry sings every goddamn word to his second album.  
  
As they make plans for the day, Zayn tries to say with his eyes that Harry doesn't have to do this, entertain his sisters, go with them, but Harry waves his hand at him, rolling his eyes the same way Zayn's been known to do, only occasionally of course.  
  
They go to The Grove an hour later, to let the girls walk around and shop at the crowded outdoor mall. Zayn makes them promise to meet him at the opposite end of the fountain, to not get in any trouble. They roll their eyes at him, which he does _not_ appreciate, but it makes Harry laugh exceptionally hard. Zayn shoves him.  
  
It happens a second time while they wait for the girls near the fountain as the sun sets. They're standing close, after drinking their coffee, as the fountain cues up, water splashing around them, when a guy walks past them and looks at Zayn.  
  
Zayn's used to people looking at him, looking at his cheekbones and his piercing eyes. He's not vain, he's not a dick about it, but whatever. He sees people glance at him sometimes when he's in public places, and normally it's no big deal, he can look the other way. He sees people glance at his sisters every once and a while, so maybe it's a Malik thing, who knows.  
  
But Harry sees it too, sees the young guy glance at Zayn as he slowly walks past them, sees the stranger turn his head and smile at Zayn. Harry sees it, and Zayn sees it, and Zayn sees Harry see it. He looks at Harry and Harry looks at him, and eventually Harry reaches up to hold his jaw firmly in his hand again, tightly, rings digging into his skin, before leaning it and kissing him.  
  
Zayn lets him, lets his body curl into him, bend into it. He feels loose, he feels their center of gravity shift again, as Harry opens his mouth up with his, again. For whatever reason, this fucking flower child, this weird fucking kid wearing a scarf, can shift Zayn, can move Zayn, however he damn well pleases. It scares Zayn and also makes him feel like he's floating off the ground. He feels the pull.  
  
Harry kisses him fiercely, holds him in place. Zayn touches Harry's hip, holding on for dear life, digging his fingers in against his shirt. He thought if this happened again, in public no less, he'd be nervous or anxious. But he's not. He realizes it then: his hands aren't shaking. He can fucking do this.  
  
So he pulls Harry into him, re-centering them, pushing against Harry's pull, and Harry lets him. It's no longer Harry holding his body up, dictating the kiss. Zayn comes back at him, and suddenly they're equals in it. Zayn brings his hand up to touch Harry's face too, so they're equal.  
  
There's no push, no pull, no power play. It's a kiss, a good one, next to a fucking fountain, around about a thousand people, and it's exactly what they both needed.  
  
Before they separate, before the girls find them, Zayn pulls Harry's hand against him, letting him feel the green and black stones in his front pocket. Harry smiles against his cheek.

  
  
***

  
The girls chatter the whole way home, asking Harry a million questions about his life in Castaic, what it was like growing up near a lake, in a small town. He tells them about his parents' rustic little vegetable garden, his small high school, his older sister's baby, how she had him right there in her bedroom last year, because she didn't want medicine or doctors in her face, how he had to hold her hand through it and close his eyes, and they're absolutely transfixed.  
  
Zayn just drives silently, letting the Malik girls pester Harry, as he runs his hand against his face, through the hair growing on his chin, across his red lips from kissing Harry before.  
  
He looks over and sees Harry staring at him, even as he's talking about his friends back home, the weird ones who still don't wear shoes. He looks at Harry looking at him, and he knows.

  
  
***

 

They put on a movie that night, after they eat Harry's favorite Thai food, Zayn and Harry grabbing beers to settle onto the couch together. Zayn wishes he could smoke a joint, settle himself, relax, but as they turn the lights off in the middle of the movie, as the girls start to doze off, Harry reaches for him and rubs his shoulders, digs his thumbs near the base of his neck, and he melts.  
  
The girls are on the floor covered in blankets, and are almost asleep, when Harry holds him tighter, firmer. He kneads his muscles, his shoulders, his upper back, down his arms to his biceps, applies the pressure Zayn is sure will settle him for days. As the credits roll, he leans in and presses a kiss to Zayn's neck, breathes against his skin, kisses him again. Zayn feels his tongue. It's about then that he has to hold a hand against his jeans, as he feels his cock filling up. He'd never admit it, that Harry's hands get him hard all the time, but this is the first time it's with a kiss, with intent, with meaning.  
  
But Harry pulls away and turns on the light, whispering to the girls they should go to sleep. Waliyha nods, getting up to make her way to Zayn's room. Harry lifts Safaa into his arms and follows her, as Zayn sits on the couch, head spinning.  
  
He hears his bedroom door click closed, the girls sharing his bed, as Harry makes his way back into the living room. He stands there, as the credits still roll on the TV, music lightly filling the air. They stare at each other for a beat, before Harry turns and goes to his room.  
  
Zayn lays against the couch for a good ten minutes, wondering if he should do this, with Harry, with a guy, with his fucking roommate, if it's the right thing to do. He feels nervous yet again, over Harry fucking Styles, and he hates himself for it, but it also invigorates him. Ever since Harry walked in a circle in this goddamn living room, he's felt it, felt something. It's maddening. He can't stop it, can't stop what's happening, the thing Sara saw coming a million miles away.  
  
So he makes a choice.

  
  
***

  
The apartment is deathly quiet, dark, still, as he makes his way down the hall to Harry's room. He slips in to see Harry already in his bed, turned away from him under a thin sheet, the small room only lit up by one single candle in the corner on his desk. He wonders if this is what he was supposed to do, if he made the choice Harry wanted him to make, when Harry reaches an arm behind himself to move the sheet, for Zayn to slip under.  
  
Zayn takes off his jeans and tshirt, until he's in nothing but his red briefs. He takes a steadying breath, wondering what the fuck is happening, who the fuck he even is these days, before sliding into Harry's bed. It smells like him, musky like incense.  
  
Harry left room for him, had a pillow ready for him next to his own, and Zayn shoves his face into it, breathing deeply. He feels his hands shaking, which makes him really mad at himself.  
  
Harry turns over to face him, the light bouncing off the side of his face. He looks fucking amazing. Zayn reaches out and runs his thumb along his eyebrow, smoothing it down, fixing it for him.  
  
"Hi," Harry whispers.  
  
"Hey Hazza," he whispers back.  
  
They look at each other for a minute, breathing deeply together the way Harry taught him, before Harry bites his lip and speaks.  
  
"I want all of it, Zayn. I want it all."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I don't want to share you. But I also want whatever you want," Harry says, moving closer, reaching for Zayn's hip.  
  
"Just let me figure it out on my own time, okay? I need to figure it out in my head, before it's like… official," Zayn says lamely, knowing he sounds like a jackass. He's practically naked in Harry's bed, but he's telling him to go slow, to let him figure out his thoughts, before he can promise Harry anything.  
  
Harry deserves a promise, deserves a clear choice, a set of rules, and Zayn hates himself for it, but it's all he has at the moment.  
  
"What do you want right now?"  
  
"I don't know," Zayn whispers, still touching Harry's face. He really doesn't know, doesn't know if he wants to sleep, or fuck, or kiss, or what.  
  
"Open mind, right? No boxes?" Harry whispers, getting right up against him, fingers running along Zayn's side, making him shiver. "Trust me?"  
  
"Yeah, okay," Zayn shivers again, as Harry's hand moves down his chest, thumbing over one of his nipples.  
  
Harry kisses him, touches his tongue against Zayn's, running them together, breathing into his mouth. He keeps thumbing Zayn's nipples, which is a sensation he's never felt before, as it's something girls don't tend to do. He feels like his entire body is pushing forward, towards Harry. He wants all of it.  
  
Harry pushes against Zayn, moves him onto his back so he can hover over him, slotting their legs together. Zayn's hands fall to the bed on either side of his head, completely giving up any and all semblance he had of composure, of control. This is Harry's room, Harry's bed. He can have whatever he wants. Harry must get it because he kisses him harder, before moving down to his neck, licking his skin, tasting him, sucking marks against his pulse, down to his shoulder.  
  
Zayn feels it in his toes, Harry's mouth, as he moves south. He grabs for the sides of the pillow as Harry's tongue works at each of his nipples, sucks them, bites them. He hisses at the feeling, the slight pain, and he wants more of it. His back arches as he tries to find relief for his erection straining in his briefs. Harry gets it, so he settles in his lap, grinds down, kissing back up his neck.  
  
He holds Zayn's face in his hands tightly, kisses him again, before whispering in his ear.  
  
"I'm going to blow you, okay? I'm going to suck you off, but you have to be quiet."  
  
"Yeah, okay. Okay," Zayn nods, whispering back, frantic now. He feels like a fucking ticking time bomb. He angles his hips up against Harry, needing it now.  
  
As Harry kisses his neck and back down his chest, Zayn thinks how right it feels, this large, hard body on top of his. It's not smooth, or petite, or small. It's pressing him into the bed, holding him down, biting at him, and it's Harry.  
  
He fucking wants all of it.  
  
Harry pulls off his briefs in one fluid motion, tossing them up towards Zayn's head. Zayn watches him, as he looks up and down Zayn's body, as he sees Zayn's cock for the first time. Harry just shakes his head, breathing heavily, fingers running up and down his thighs. He settles on his forearms between Zayn's legs and looks up at him one last time, grabbing him in his hand. Zayn almost has a fucking heart attack, when Harry's eyes meet his.  
  
"Put your hand over your mouth," he says, voice husky, hand moving up and down Zayn's length.  
  
Zayn looks down at him, blinks, tries to focus on what Harry's saying.  
  
"Cover your mouth, Zayn. Now," he says firmer, grasping him tighter.  
  
Zayn throws his right hand to his face, clamps his fingers down, right as Harry takes him into his mouth.  
  
And maybe Harry really fucking gets him, because the second he feels Harrys tongue against the slit, licking the precome away, tasting him, Zayn groans so loudly, so harshly, if his hand hadn't been covering his mouth, the entire fucking building would've woken up. He digs his thumb into his cheekbone as Harry takes more of him in his mouth, sinks lower.  
  
Harry must hear the muffled _motherfucker_ he whines against his hand, because Harry digs his nails into Zayn's thigh and sucks harder.  
  
Zayn takes it, just lays there, let's Harry set the pace, the pressure of it. He doesn't move his hips, doesn't buck up into it, even though it's been a long time since his dick has been in anyone's mouth. Sara didn't love doing it, is the thing. But Harry must be into it, because he does it rough, fast, sucks at Zayn like he's trying to fucking kill him, trying to give him a heart attack, and Zayn can't shut up.  
  
He feels himself getting closer, feels his orgasm in the pit of his gut, knows it's moving around next to the feeling that used to make him sick, the feeling he didn't want for a while, the feeling he might've had for Stephen, and Marc Miser in high school, the feeling he now couldn't ignore even if he tried. It's building, it's surging through him.  
  
Harry sucks harder, lets the tip of his cock hit against the back of his throat, as he relaxes his jaw further. Zayn feels him swallow around him, once, twice, three times, his nose rubbing against the skin at the base of him. Zayn can't stop the sounds coming from his mouth, the sounds beating against his hand like they're trying to escape, as Harry runs his fingers against his balls, down his perineum, holding him steady.  
  
It's just as Harry moves his fingers further, runs one against Zayn's entrance, that Zayn reaches down with his other hand and haphazardly smacks against the side of Harry's head, the only warning he can give.  
  
But it's no use, because Harry swats his hand away and sucks harder, faster, as Zayn releases into his mouth, coming down his throat, practically yelling into his hand now. It feels so fucking good, so perfect, like it's been forced out of him, and Harry takes all of it. He doesn't let Zayn out of his mouth, just sucks again and again, pulls him through it, swallows all of it, until Zayn whimpers, until he can't handle it anymore.  
  
Harry lets him slip out of his mouth, past his red lips, as he sits up on his haunches and breathes deeply, eyes towards the ceiling, exhausted.  
  
Zayn can honestly say it's the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen, a fucked out Harry sitting between his legs, erection pressing against his briefs, chest heaving. Zayn is the luckiest bastard alive, as his cloudy eyes try to focus on Harry, his chest, his energy. He reaches for him, pulls Harry down so their chests are touching.  
  
He runs his hand through Harry's hair, to grip his face, slipping his tongue in his mouth as a thank you. He's never tasted himself, never tasted come before, so it's a new sensation. Harry knows it, pushes his tongue against him harder, let's Zayn in.  
  
Zayn realizes Harry is going to get himself off, as he tries to reach between them to pull his cock out of his briefs, but Zayn can't have that. He won't let that happen. He hurriedly grabs Harry's wrist and brings it up.  
  
"Arms on either side of my head," he gasps out, looking Harry in the eye.  
  
Harry blinks at him, bewildered, but does as he's told, brings both of his forearms up by Zayn's ears, waiting. Because this is Harry's room, Harry's bed, and he can have whatever he wants. But Zayn thinks to himself, _I'm Zayn fucking Malik, I set the rules, too._  
  
He reaches down and pushes Harry's briefs down as best as he can, past his ass, to his mid thigh. He moves under him slightly, widens his legs for Harry to settle better against him. Zayn's never touched a dick besides his own, and Harry's is bigger, thicker, which should intimidate Zayn, but it doesn't. He wants all of it.  
  
"Look at you," Zayn whispers, gripping him in his hand, tugging a few times.  
  
"Fuck," Harry groans, having let his face fall to Zayn's neck.  
  
"No, look at me," Zayn says directly into his ear.  
  
Harry pulls himself back up, looking down at Zayn, sees his intense stare, as Zayn speeds up his hand, just doing the thing he does to himself, hoping it feels good for Harry too.  
  
"Never done this before, never done it, just with you," he says in a low voice, words coming out of his mouth he never thought he'd say. He's never talked like this. Sex has always been one dimensional, boring, easy. It's never been this heated, this charged. He fucking loves it, he eats it up.  
  
Harry just nods, can't speak, can't do anything but look at Zayn's face.  
  
"You gonna come on me, Haz?" he whispers wickedly, as Harry groans again.  
  
Zayn speeds up his hand, holds him tighter, runs his thumb across the head. Harry can't stop moving, his legs tensing, as Zayn grips his hip in his other hand.  
  
"I want to see you come, Harry. Come on me, show me," he whispers, rushed.  
  
Harry's entire body tenses, his hands squeeze at Zayn's hair, as his face contorts into a groan. He comes in spurts in Zayn's hand, making a mess on his stomach, his chest. He comes so hard, Zayn's surprised he can even hold himself up through it.  
  
"There it is, Hazza. Look at that," Zayn says, squeezing the last drop out, as Harry shivers. He opens his eyes slowly, looking down at Zayn's chest.  
  
They breathe for a few seconds, as Harry comes back to himself. Zayn feels like he could come again, could do this all over again, but he wants to save it. He looks up into Harry's eyes and sees a glint there, a smile spreads across his face, like he has an idea.  
  
Harry runs one finger through the come on Zayn's chest, before it cools or dries, and lifts it to Zayn's mouth, to let Zayn taste him for the first time. Zayn rolls his eyes, because Harry is a moron, but he opens his mouth anyways, lets Harry run the tip of his finger along his bottom lip before slipping it in. Zayn licks at it, sucks it for a second, before Harry slips it out and they smile together.  
  
"Next time, I want to fuck you," Zayn whispers later, after they've cleaned up and the candle has been blown out, as they lay together in the dark.  
  
"Sounds good to me," Harry sighs, settling into his pillow.  
  
"And then after that, I want you to fuck me," Zayn says even softer.  
  
"Okay," Harry whispers.  
  
Zayn can hear the smile in his voice, the laugh threatening to escape, so he smacks Harry's chest.  
  
"Don't get too excited, it doesn't mean anything yet."  
  
"Okay, Zayn. Sure," Harry says, really laughing this time.  
  
Harry turns to him and kisses him again.  
  
Zayn smiles into it.

  
  
***

  
The next day, after the girls leave, as Harry crowds up to Zayn in the kitchen kissing the back of his neck, as Zayn turns to look at him, before he's about to tell Harry the choice he's made, they hear Zayn's phone going off on the table.  
  
They ignore it and let it ring.

They probably shouldn't have.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Now that he's started cleaning the bathroom again, Zayn can't stop. He scrubs at the shower wall with a thick sponge, a pair of yellow gloves on his hands, scrubbing and scrubbing, his forearms aching. The tiles are clean. The soap scum he somehow convinces himself has accumulated over the last two weeks is nonexistent.  
  
But he scrubs harder.  
  
He scrubs until he has to physically sit himself down in the tub, sweat lining his forehead, exhausted. He stupidly left the bathroom door closed, so the fumes from his favorite bathroom cleaner, the one smelling like lemons, swirl around him and make him feel lightheaded.  
  
Zayn sits in the tub for a long time, running over all of it in his head, yet again, wondering how he ended up here. He doesn't know when he became the person who fucked around with his roommate, a guy, a man-child like Harry Styles, and how he ended up enjoying it so much. He also doesn't know how he let his pride, his stubbornness, completely take over the rest of his personality. He wonders when he became the person who yelled when he didn't get his way, the person who let one phone call, one stupid message, be the catalyst for a fight with someone who wouldn't hurt a fly. Maybe he's always been that guy, and just never realized it.  
  
Two days ago he thought he was levelheaded, his mind was clear, he was content with where he was headed. And now he's a mess, a kid sitting fully clothed in his bathtub, hands covered in yellow plastic, waiting to be forgiven by the person who had slowly become not only one of his best friends, but one of the best people he's ever met.  
  
He feels like he's lost control entirely.

  
  
***

  
Two days ago, Trisha came to the apartment to pick up the girls, just as they all finished breakfast in the kitchen. They didn't stay long, but Harry made sure to make her comfortable with at least one cup of coffee, asking about her job, what she does with her time, as the girls packed up their stuff. It was pleasant, Zayn couldn't help but think, seeing Harry around his family.  
  
Harry told Trisha he still had one more year of school, including a bunch of summer courses, so he could graduate next May. He glanced at Zayn as he told her about finally making a decision, finding his major, setting a standard for himself. When she grabbed his arm and said how great it was, he blushed.  
  
Zayn sipped his coffee and thought about his own standards, his own choices. He'd chosen for so long to ignore the things he felt, the person he was deep down. He focused on Sara, closing himself off from new people, focused entirely on his classes and studying. It wasn't until Harry walked in a circle in his living, looped around him, over and over, practically tethering them together with an invisible rope, that he finally realized what he wanted.  
  
Harry lightly touched Trisha's arm, as she told him about her nursing career, his eyes intense and excited, and it was around then when Zayn made his choice.  
  
He chose Harry, simple as that.  
  
He chose annoying, barefooted, bright-eyed Harry Styles, the kid with the scarf on his head and a candle in the corner. He chose him, he chose them, he chose whatever they were together. He chose something that made absolutely no sense on paper. And even though they had things to work out, like the roommate issue, or the issue of what they would do come May, it didn't matter. Because Harry smelled a candle in a store once and thought of Zayn, bought it for him for his room. He got Zayn his lucky stone. He _got_ Zayn.  
  
So when his family left, when he stood at the sink rinsing out their coffee cups, he let Harry crowd up behind him and kiss his neck. Harry ran his hands up and down his sides, before settling on his shoulders, thumbs kneading into his spine. Zayn smiled, turned off the sink, and turned around to face him.  
  
Zayn's phone started to go off on the table, the incessant buzzing sound he loathes. He glanced at it, over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned his head to look, before eyeing Zayn, wondering if he should step back and let him answer it. But Zayn held up his hand and swiftly gave it the middle finger, before looking at Harry, both of them smiling like fools.  
  
Zayn grabbed his hands, held on tight, as the buzzing stopped. The kitchen fell silent once more.  
  
"I want all of it too, Harry," he said, clear as day, face set.  
  
Harry's face broke into a huge grin. He grabbed Zayn and pulled him into a crushing hug. And because he's a moron, Harry lifted Zayn up, arms around his waist, and carried him out of the kitchen, just as Zayn's phone rang a second time.

  
  
***

  
Zayn didn't listen to the message on his phone until two days later, because he's an idiot, and he let Harry convince him they didn't need to talk to anyone or leave the apartment because they had "catching up to do," classes and schoolwork be damned, just this once. Apparently the fact that Zayn had never sucked a dick before became top priority, so they practiced over and over, in their bedrooms, on the couch, even on the balcony, until Harry literally had to shove Zayn off him towards the end of it, he was so sensitive and tender after coming so many times in two days.  
  
If he's honest, Zayn had thought about it before, in heated moments when he had a hand around himself, or when he lathered up in the shower. He wondered what it would be like to be at the mercy of a guy like that, on his knees, or shoved on a mattress, a thick, heavy cock in his mouth, stretching him out.  
  
It was everything and more, the first time Harry guided himself into his waiting mouth, on his knees with Harry on the couch. Harry was so sweet at first, holding his face, thumbs running along his cheekbones, as Zayn tasted him for the first time. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard right away, to feel the sensation, which made Harry buck up into it, a harsh breath escaping his lips, which Zayn can definitively say is one of the best sounds he's ever heard. Harry didn't last, later telling Zayn his hollowed mouth was to blame, the flush of his neck, the nails in his thighs, all too much coming from someone as beautiful as Zayn.  
  
But every time after that got rougher and rougher, harsher, better, as Harry got braver, as Zayn got more comfortable letting go of his control. He spent so many years being the driving force behind any sexual encounter, with someone small, fragile, sweet. Harry was bigger, tougher. He held Zayn's head down, made him gag a few times, pulled his hair, told him what to do, how fast to go, when to sit back so he could come all over his pretty face, or when to swallow and take it all.  
  
Harry always sucked him off afterwards, in a rush, because Zayn could barely contain himself after being pushed around like that. He never lasted long.  
  
It was like a two day bender, a couple of junkies holed up in an apartment, shooting up. They couldn't stop. It was like every minute they weren't touching, weren't biting lips or tasting each other, was a minute wasted. They slept, drank coffee, ordered pizza, and went down on each other for two days straight and it was everything.  
  
So when Harry went to the store to get them some real food that night, finally, Zayn came back to himself, shaking his head, wondering what the hell he was doing. He didn't go to class, he hadn't checked his email, or done any work. All of a sudden he stood in his bedroom and felt a panic attack, afraid he fucked up his entire life, for what, two days worth of jizz on his face?  
  
He flew to his computer and sent emails to his professors, emailed his mom, checked his grades. He grabbed his phone and saw the message from two days ago and quickly held it to his ear.  
  
And when Harry walked back in the door twenty minutes later, Zayn very nearly threw his green fucking stone back in his face.  
  
It wasn't lucky at all. Harry was a dirty, rotten liar.

  
  
***

  
Harry set the food on the coffee table, as he watched Zayn pace back and forth across the living room, pulling at his hair, angry.  
  
"Woah, what is happening? What's wrong?"  
  
"Fuck. Fuck, Harry," he muttered, pacing.  
  
"Talk to me, you're making me nervous. What's wrong?" Harry said, grabbing for him, worried.  
  
Zayn pulled away from him and walked towards the balcony door, turning to him.  
  
"Fuck, Haz," he said, breathing heavily. "My advisor called me, two fucking days ago. I fucked up. I signed up for the wrong class. I signed up for a stupid fucking English class for freshmen. It doesn't count for me, it doesn't count for anything. I can't use it for credit. I fucked up."  
  
Harry just stared at him, confused.  
  
"Okay… Is that… Is that all?"  
  
"What?" Zayn said, as he narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Like, is that all? You're acting like someone's died, Zayn."  
  
"What the fuck, Harry? I fucked up and signed up for the wrong class. I don't have my credits. I don't graduate in May anymore, it's fucking done. It's over. I have to take something this summer, it's too late to get into another class now, it's too late."  
  
Harry continued to stare at him, eyes wide.  
  
"Stop looking at me like that, just stop. Don't make me feel like a crazy person, Harry. Stop," he says angrily, pacing again, eyes on the floor. "I had it all planned. I was supposed to graduate in May. I was supposed to graduate and be done, go to Boston to work with my uncle's friend for six weeks, I had it all planned. Why the fuck do you think I get so stressed over school? I had a plan."  
  
He couldn't stop pacing.  
  
"What?"  
  
Zayn stopped and turned to Harry, heard the weird tone in his voice.  
  
 _"What?"_ Zayn said back, annoyed, confused.  
  
"Since when are you going to Boston? I've never heard you talk about Boston," Harry said, moving towards him.  
  
"God, Harry, it was always going to be Boston for six weeks, Jesus Christ," he rolled his eyes, walking away again. "Don't do that, don't talk to me like I hid something from you. I didn't. We just hadn't talked about it. It never came up."  
  
He walked into the kitchen to get his yellow gloves and bucket from under the sink. But Harry sidestepped him and blocked the way before he could.  
  
"No. You've never said a word about Boston. Were you going to tell me?"  
  
"This thing, the thing we're doing, it just started, Harry. Give me a fucking break, okay? I didn't know," he said, as he stepped back, stepped away.  
  
"I'm your fucking roommate. At the very least you could've told your roommate that," Harry says, finally moving away from him, heading to his room, yelling over his shoulder. "And you did know. You've known this was happening, whatever this is, you've felt it for weeks. Don't lie to me."  
  
Zayn followed him, stomping behind him into Harry's room.  
  
"Stop it, stop making me feel worse. I just got told I won't graduate in May, in the four years like I planned. Don't do this. Some of us knew what the fuck we wanted all along, some of us go to class, some of us had our majors figured out a long time ago. We do our shit, do as we're told. This was was my plan, Harry. Don't."  
  
Zayn said it so fast, before he could think about it, his fists clenching. He regretted it immediately, but his face was set. He didn't let Harry see.  
  
"Get out, Zayn. I don't want to talk to you right now," Harry said, as he turned to him, hands on his hips.  
  
Zayn stared at him, in disbelief. Harry stared back, before waving his arm towards the door.  
  
And because Zayn is really stupid, he let his anger, his stubborn nature get in the way, and he actually did. He walked back out into the hallway, grabbed his phone and keys, and left.

  
  
***

  
Zayn knocked on Sara's door that night, without shaking hands, his face still set. She opened it and knew his face, knew him better than anyone, and let him in. He paced around her living room for ten minutes before finally sitting next to her. She handed him a beer and he was grateful. He looked at her, at his Sara, and wondered if he should be doing this, venting about Harry, his sort-of boyfriend. But she nodded, she knew. It was okay.  
  
"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" she said quietly, as she grabbed for his hand.  
  
"I'm not graduating in May, not anymore. I have to take a fucking summer class. And when I told Harry, he didn't even care, Sara. He didn't care that I was upset, or frustrated, or anything. He just didn't care."  
  
Sara gave him a look, a look he knows well. His cheeks reddened. He wasn't telling her the whole truth and she knew it.  
  
"Okay, so like… I hadn't told him about Boston, not yet. It never came up."  
  
"Zayn."  
  
"I know, I know I should've. But I've been so focused on school lately, I didn't mean to not tell him. I guess I just figured it would come up eventually. I'd tell him I was going for six weeks, and he'd be fine with it. I'm just so mad, Sara. I'm mad at myself for fucking up my credits and I'm mad that Harry's mad."  
  
She gave him another look.  
  
"I also said a shitty thing to him. I was kind of a dick, before leaving. You know I say stupid shit when I'm mad sometimes," he finished, looking down.  
  
"Do you want to know what I think? What I really think?" she said, with a small smile.  
  
He nodded. He's never heard true non-girlfriend Sara advice before.  
  
"I don't know where you two are, what you're doing, or how you are right now… But I know you have feelings for him. And I think you never told him because you didn't want to admit you'd be leaving him any time soon, to yourself, or to him. And I also think he's angry, more than anything else, because he's going to miss you."  
  
He stared at her.  
  
"I know you're angry about not graduating, but it's not the end of the world. You're going to take your summer class, take a quick first session class, get the diploma you've earned, and be okay with it," she says firmly, nodding once. Sara's always been good about this type of thing, tough love and all that. "So you need to get over it, move on, be honest with him, and apologize for being a dick."  
  
Zayn looks down at their hands again and sighs. She's right. It's not the end of the world. He'll graduate soon enough.  
  
She's also right about why he didn't tell Harry. He was so used to his weird-as-fuck roommate, used to their dynamic, he didn't want to rock the boat and leave him just yet, even though he had to. He has to apologize.  
  
"Do you want to go home? Go see him?"  
  
"Can I stay here for a while first?" he said nervously, wanting to give Harry time, give himself time, to figure out what to say.  
  
"Sure, babe."  
  
So he did. Zayn stayed with Sara for a few more hours, let her run her small hands up and down his forearm while a movie played, while he composed himself and let the stupid shit in his head go.  
  
If he was going to talk to Harry tonight, he wanted to be steady, solid.  
  
It didn't end up happening when he got home, though. Because when Zayn walked in late that night, after collecting himself, Harry was gone. He wasn't in the living room on his yoga mat, he wasn't in his room, all his candles extinguished.  
  
After he walked around in a circle in the living room, after he realized Harry left, Zayn did what Zayn does best. He closed himself up in the bathroom and scrubbed at every tiled surface he could get his hands on.

  
  
***

  
So now Zayn sits in the bathtub, head between his legs, breathing heavily, wondering where Harry is. He hopes he's with Louis or Niall, with people who care about him and won't make him feel like shit, make him feel like how Zayn made him feel earlier.  
  
He thinks about the fight from Harry's perspective, walking into their home thinking Zayn lost a family member or friend, thinking something so terrible happened, Zayn couldn't contain himself. Zayn thought about what he'd do, if he found out the person he cared for was upset over something that could easily be fixed, and then immediately told he had been deceived. He'd be hurt. He'd be pissed, actually. He would've reacted the exact same way Harry did.  
  
Zayn sighs and is just about to get up and leave the bathroom when he hears the front door bang open, followed by angry footsteps in the hallway. He's nervous now, afraid of the version of Harry he'll see when he opens the bathroom door, so he waits.  
  
He hears Harry walk up and down the hallway a few times, huffing about, banging around, before he hears the kitchen sink. He takes a final breath and gets up, readying himself for the apology he knows he needs to give.  
  
Zayn walks into the kitchen with soft footsteps. Harry is on his hands and knees, wearing only a pair of tiny black shorts that barely cover his ass, scrubbing at the kitchen floor with a vengeance. If the situation weren't so shitty, Zayn would laugh at Harry cleaning when he's upset, just like Zayn does. He would also laugh at the way he's scrubbing, the Zayn Malik way, just how Zayn taught him.  
  
He takes a deep breath.  
  
"Hey Hazza," he says quietly.  
  
Harry startles slightly, sloshing water around in the bucket as he knocks it with his hand, before he sits up and turns to Zayn, still on his knees. He looks at Zayn, clearly surprised to see him even in the apartment, before his face contorts like it did earlier. He's still really angry.  
  
"I didn't know you were here," he says, frowning.  
  
"I was scrubbing the shower," Zayn smiles slightly, nodding at Harry on the floor, wanting Harry to smile with him, at them both angry-cleaning.  
  
Harry doesn't smile. He just looks back at him.  
  
"This isn't funny, Zayn. This is not funny," he huffs out, standing up, quickly removing the pair of yellow gloves, snapping them off and throwing them to the floor.  
  
Zayn winces. He doesn't like Harry like this.  
  
"I'm mad, Zayn. I'm very mad. And don't you dare come in here thinking I'm going to apologize for a fucking thing, because I'm not," he says, hands on his hips. "I'm not apologizing like after the party, because I'm not wrong here. You're wrong. You were mean earlier. You were really mean."  
  
Zayn stares at him.  
  
"I walked in to see you angry. I tried to reach for you, to calm you down. I tried to put shit into perspective. So you'll graduate a fucking month after you thought you would, big deal. But you wouldn't let me touch you. You made me feel like shit, like it was my fault because we spent two days doing… what we did. It's not my fault. You made me feel like shit, like I was in the way, like I was a nuisance. And then you drop a bomb about Boston for six weeks like it's no big deal, like it's nothing. You made me feel like shit for not having a perfect fucking plan like you, for not going to class as often as I should, and that was mean. That was a low blow."  
  
Zayn just keeps looking at him, totally ashamed, letting him continue.  
  
"You didn't tell me about Boston, about leaving, about leaving _me_ for six weeks. You didn't trust me with that. I had one fucking rule, Zayn, just one. I gave you one rule, to trust me, and you couldn't do it."  
  
Zayn sees his chin moving, as Harry lets his arms drop. He feels worse than he's ever felt.  
  
"Say something," Harry says, shrugging his shoulders. "And don't you make me feel bad, don't you tell me to apologize for any of it. Because you told me you wanted it. You said you wanted it all. And then we had a fight and you left. You left me, so you don't get to come back in here and make me feel bad."  
  
Zayn can feel himself crack a little, at the look on Harry's face. Harry wouldn't hurt a fly, wouldn't hurt him on purpose. Zayn hurt him and then left. Harry thought Zayn would come barreling in again, throwing his anger around, holding up a finger like he did after the stupid party. And that, more than anything else, makes Zayn feel like a complete and utter dick.  
  
"You don't have to apologize for anything, Harry," Zayn says finally, quietly, slowly walking to him in the middle of the kitchen.  
  
Harry's entire body is tense, his chest heaving.  
  
"I'm sorry," Zayn whispers, close to Harry's mouth, grabbing his hands. "I'm so sorry, Hazza. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, I shouldn't be so fucking stubborn. And I should've told you about Boston."  
  
"You should've," Harry says forcefully, not letting up yet.  
  
"I was afraid to tell you, to ruin any of this. It's not that I don't trust you, I swear. We've been so good, as friends, as roommates, and now as… whatever we are. And I didn't want to ruin it."  
  
Harry sighs, lets his head fall onto Zayn's shoulder, as his body starts to relax.  
  
"I'm sorry, Haz. I'm really sorry."  
  
"You can't take shit out on me," Harry says in a low voice. "It's not fair. I hate when you're mad at me, you know that."  
  
"I know," Zayn shushes him, slowly wrapping his arms around him. "I'm sorry."  
  
"And I know you had a plan, a plan you wanted to stick to, to graduate in May. But it's okay, you'll work it out," Harry says, hugging Zayn back now.  
  
"I know, I was stupid. I'm sorry for getting angry. And I'm sorry I made you feel bad about the major thing. You know I'm proud of you."  
  
"I know," Harry whispers, turning his face into Zayn's neck.

"I never want to leave you, I swear," Zayn finishes.  
  
They hold on tight, hugging in the middle of their already clean kitchen, the cleaning fumes swirling around them.  
  
They had their first fight and their first makeup that day, after their two day bender, and Zayn vows to never let it happen again. He vows to not be the guy with the rulebook, the guy who makes Harry feel bad, the guy who gets angry. He vows to not be the guy who scrubs his shower to the point of exhaustion, especially over a fight, over something he caused.  
  
He vows to remember Harry's one and only rule, to trust Harry explicitly. He also vows to let go of the control he for some reason thinks he needs to keep a leash on.  
  
After they turn the light off and make their way to Harry's room, Zayn reaches into his pocket and runs his finger over the green stone tucked in his favorite jeans. He makes the choice to believe, once and for all, that it's lucky.

  
  
***

  
They don't do anything after they leave the kitchen, not that night. They both feel it in their bones, the exhaustion after their two days of exploring each others' body, the exhaustion that comes after a disagreement. Zayn feels something else too, has a feeling in his gut that won't go away, but he keeps it close for now.  
  
But Zayn wakes up early the next morning, wrapped around Harry, arm around his waist. The alarm isn't supposed to go off for another hour, before they both have to get up and go to class for the first time that week. Zayn lets himself savor Harry's warmth, the solid body underneath his he's come to appreciate so much. He lightly runs his lips against Harry's shoulder blade, against the hard muscle he grasps at when Harry swallows around him.  
  
He thinks back over the last few days, the way Harry was with his mom and sisters, the joy he felt. He thinks about the way Harry carried himself next to that fountain. He saw someone look at Zayn and he hated it. He hated it so much, he claimed Zayn's mouth right then and there around a bunch of strangers, his hand firm on Zayn's jaw, opening him up. He realizes how honest and brave Harry is.  
  
He also thinks about the way Harry gasped when Zayn got it right, the blowjob thing, when his hand moved across his balls, when _he_ got brave, too.  
  
He then thinks about their fight and how shitty he still feels, for making Harry feel bad. Boston was always in the plan, a quick six weeks at an ad agency his uncle's friend owns. It was finalized over the holiday break, and he knows he should've told Harry. He knows. But thinking about Boston became too hard, the deeper he got in this thing with Harry.

He knows he let himself get angry over his own mistake, for fucking his class up, for fucking up when he prides himself on never fucking up. He took it out on the person closest to him.  
  
Zayn absolutely hates himself for it, all over again.  
  
Harry shifts in his sleep, moves under Zayn's arm, so Zayn leans back slightly as Harry falls onto his back. He turns his head and tucks it into Zayn's neck, breath evening out again. Zayn can't help himself, can't stop himself from wanting to make Harry feel good again, so he leans down and kisses Harry's mouth. Harry doesn't respond, just keeps breathing deeply in his sleep, so Zayn kisses at his jaw, his neck.  
  
He shifts his body so he can lay on top of Harry, careful not to wake him yet, kissing his neck, sucking lightly at the skin there. He slowly and quietly works his way down Harry's chest, moving down under the covers. He smiles as he licks his way down Harry's stomach, sure it'll be quite the sight, waking up to a bobbing head under the covers, not being able to see Zayn at all.  
  
He slowly slides Harry's shorts off, settling between his legs, not being able to see a thing under Harry's thick comforter. He stills, to make sure Harry's still asleep, before running his nails up and down his thighs, breathing onto Harry's already half hard cock. He wants Harry to wake up in the middle of it, wake up to the surprise. He takes him into his mouth, sucking, as Harry gasps in his sleep. His legs are moving now, his stomach tenses up, as Zayn works his mouth lower and lower, bobbing up and down.  
  
Finally, Harry must sense it, must wake up. Because Zayn distinctly hears a small chuckle, as he feels Harry's hands wind into his hair, pulling at him. He wants this to be good, he wants whatever Harry wants, so he lets Harry move him, pull him up, push him back down, as he breathes through his nose.  
  
Suddenly his eyes adjust to the harsh morning light coming through the window, because Harry throws the comforter off them entirely, pulling at Zayn's hair again, pulling him off.  
  
Zayn sits up, panting, looking at Harry with an open expression. He wants all of it. He wants what Harry wants. He wants Harry to feel good, to never feel bad ever again.  
  
"You want to fuck me?" Harry says in a huff, legs moving, as Zayn strokes him.  
  
"Yeah," Zayn nods, moving back up to kiss him.  
  
"Watch me, yeah?" Harry says into his mouth, his arm reaching out to the table by his bed.  
  
Zayn couldn't tear his eyes away from Harry even if he fucking tried. He watches everything. He watches Harry sit up and push him back against the headboard, watches as he sets the condom by Zayn's hand, watches as he slicks up his own fingers.  
  
He watches Harry settle over his lap, watches him reach down and work himself open. He watches the first finger slowly slide in and out, as Harry bites his lip. Harry makes the most delicious sounds as he works himself through it, as he stretches himself for Zayn. Zayn can't help it, he has to be involved somehow, so when Harry adds a second finger, Zayn strokes himself with one hand and holds Harry's shoulder in the other.  
  
Harry closes his eyes as he bobs up and down slightly, he gasps when he hits that spot with his curled fingers, other hand on Zayn's chest so he doesn't fall forward.  
  
"I'm ready, I'm good," Harry finally says, peeling his eyes open, looking at Zayn.  
  
"Fuck," Zayn whispers, as Harry removes his fingers and grabs for the condom. He bites it open, rolls it onto Zayn's cock with such dexterity, his head spinning it's happening so fast.  
  
Harry lubes him, strokes him a few times, and sits up further, Zayn's face against his chest, before he lines himself up.  
  
Zayn feels the tip of his cock catch at Harry's rim, feels the ring of muscle there and his eyes almost roll back in his head. Harry makes a sound, as he grabs at the headboard behind Zayn, before finally sinking onto him, slow, so fucking slow, Zayn's sure he's going to remember this for the rest of his life. It's so much better than fucking a girl, tighter, more intense. Harry is so hot around him, as he fucks himself down onto Zayn, he's not sure how long he'll be able to last.  
  
"Fuck, Harry," Zayn says against his chest, glad he's sitting up for this, glad he can watch as Harry settles on his cock. He feels all of it.  
  
"Good?" Harry says on an exhale, face contorted, fully seated on him now.  
  
"Good," Zayn groans, fingers grasping Harry's hips, as Harry clenches around him slightly, moving back up. He fucks himself up and down on Zayn, breath quickening.  
  
Zayn pulls Harry against him even more, licks at his nipples, biting each of them, as Harry hisses at it, moving faster. Zayn reaches for him, grabbing his cock in his hand, pumping him, running his thumb on the underside of it, along the slit.  
  
"Zayn," Harry breathes out, as Zayn shifts slightly, moving his legs up to get a better angle.  
  
And then he hears it, the whine he heard Harry make all those weeks ago, the whine he swore he never wanted to hear again. He realizes, right as Harry grabs at the back of his head, pulling his hair, whining again, that it wasn't so much him never wanting to hear Harry make that sound, but never wanting to hear Harry make it with anyone but him. He doesn't want to share Harry, not ever.  
  
Harry comes first, as Zayn pushes up into him right as he grinds down, this delicious push and pull from both of them, comes in Zayn's hand, gripping his neck. Zayn feels him clench, pulling him in further as he comes and comes, and Zayn can't control it. He shoots into the condom, grunting as he holds Harry's hips, sure he must be hurting him somewhat, but Harry holds on.  
  
When Harry finally lifts himself up and off of Zayn, falling onto the bed, gasping for air, Zayn's pretty sure any control he thought he had has slipped away entirely. He's so fucking lost for Harry, lost in him, he doesn't know how he'll ever not be.  
  
He also briefly wonders, as they lay together a few minutes later, before the alarm is supposed to go off, how he'll ever be able to leave Harry for six weeks.  
  
He really doesn't know.  
  
Because right before the alarm goes off, right as Zayn starts switching his mind to work-mode, to the mountain of shit he'll have to do this week, Harry turns to him and smiles.  
  
"I want this, Zayn. You want it too, right? Us?"  
  
"I want you," Zayn whispers, kissing him, no hesitation.  
  
"And Boston?"  
  
"It's not for a few months, Hazza. Let's not worry about Boston now, okay?"  
  
Harry looks at him and then buries his face into Zayn's neck.  
  
"Okay."

  
  
***

  
Zayn Malik, once his mind is set on something, is quite the force to be reckoned with. Once he talked to his adviser in person, and figured out his mistake, once he accepted it and moved on, he resigned himself to the fact he wouldn't graduate in May and wouldn't be leaving for Boston until after he finished a fast track summer English course. So he dropped the useless freshman class, freed up some of his time to study, and got to work.  
  
If he can't graduate in May, if he has to wait, he's at least going to get kick ass grades in his other classes. He's going to push himself.  
  
So that's how Zayn and Harry start their relationship, in a flurry of classes and research papers, under a mountain of projects, their apartment littered with books and notes. They sit at the kitchen table every night for weeks, for hours and hours, studying their asses off, Zayn to prove he can correct his mistake, Harry to prove he can make a decision and stick with it.  
  
Some nights Zayn cleans the apartment with headphones on, Harry leaving him be, letting him scrub and wash and dust to get his nerves in check. Other nights Harry pulls him out of it, makes him stretch on his orange mat, blows him at his desk, rubs his shoulders until they ache. Zayn likes those nights, the nights he gives it up to Harry, the nights Harry unravels him and takes the control out of his hands.  
  
They work and work and work, barely seeing their friends, barely leaving their apartment unless it's for food or class, working and studying, fucking and sleeping, over and over, until it's almost May and they come up for air.  
  
As finals week approaches, as they both get more and more tense, Zayn feels his control slipping even more. They never talked about the fact that they live together and have become ridiculously co-dependent. They work and fuck, and even through the stress, it's damn near perfect.  
  
They don't talk about Boston yet. They know it's going to be hard.

  
  
***

  
They don't have a disagreement again until the Saturday before finals, their stress levels both off the charts. Zayn got back from the library and walked in to see Sara on the couch, with Louis and Niall on either side of her, beers in their hands. Harry was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, laughing with them.  
  
Zayn looks around at the little gathering, wondering what the fuck Harry is thinking. He knew Zayn needed this time to finish his last design project, the last and most important thing on his to-do list. He knew.  
  
"Hey babe," Harry says in a rush, getting up and reaching for him, already reading Zayn's mood.  
  
Zayn just looks at him, before looking at their friends. Sara immediately pats at Louis and Niall's knees, nodding to the door. They silently walk out, leaving Zayn and Harry be.  
  
"Seriously, Haz? It smells like booze in here now," Zayn says, rolling his eyes, walking down the hall to his room.  
  
"We are all stressed, Zayn. All of us. We took a few hours to relax," Harry says with a clipped tone, following Zayn.  
  
"I need to finish my shit," Zayn turns to him, clearly telling Harry to leave him be.  
  
Zayn can feel it, his body tensing up further. He can feel the energy in his fingertips, the nervous agitation, the stress coursing through him. He feels out of control, anxious, wound up. He doesn't know if he needs to run five miles to get it out of him, or study until his brain aches, or what. He wants Harry to leave him alone, but he also wants to hug him. He wants his shoulders rubbed, but he wants to shove Harry out into the hall.  
  
Zayn starts to pace, the anxiousness, the to-do list in his brain filling up with even more stuff, the thought of Boston clouding his brain again, the thought of graduating and leaving, of leaving Harry for weeks. He feels like a wreck. He feels out of control.

He briefly wonders if he should clean the bathroom. Maybe he should wash the floor in there, twice, for good measure.  
  
"Stop," Harry tries, in a placating voice, trying to calm him.  
  
"Don't tell me to stop, Harry. I have so much to do, I feel like… I just feel…" he says, pulling at his hair, not knowing how he feels.  
  
"Stop," Harry says louder, grabbing his arm like that first day, stilling him.  
  
Zayn listens. He feels his brain disengage, feels the pull Harry has over him, the pull he's had since the first day he walked in. He stops and goes into autopilot. He'll do whatever Harry says.  
  
Harry looks at him, cocking his head slightly, weighing Zayn up. Zayn just stands there, hands at his side, waiting.  
  
"Take your clothes off," Harry says, voice steady.  
  
Zayn doesn't hesitate. He throws his shirt and jeans into the corner, slipping his briefs down and off his slim frame, before straightening up and looking into Harry's eyes, waiting. If Harry wants it, if he wants to take the control, take everything, Zayn won't stop him. If it means getting to shut his brain off, to let Harry move his body however he wants, so be it.  
  
"Get on the bed, all fours. Now," Harry says, gesturing to it.  
  
So Zayn crawls onto his hands and knees in the middle of his perfecting made bed and waits. He waits and waits, as he listens for some sort of sound. He feels the bed dip slightly behind him, as Harry's hands slowly make their way up the back of his thighs, nails scratching him. He hates to admit it, but he's already hard and ready for whatever Harry wants to do.  
  
Because even after all these months, after all this time of sucking into skin, biting at each other, it's always been Zayn pushing into Harry, Zayn hitting that spot inside Harry when they need to get off. It's never been like this.  
  
"You want to do this, Zayn?" Harry says quietly, hands gripping at Zayn's ass, kneading it.  
  
"Yeah," Zayn huffs out, as Harry runs a thumb against his entrance.  
  
"You're gonna take everything I give you, right?"  
  
Zayn feels it then, Harry's tongue. He feels it and he doesn't even know how to prepare himself, his mind, his body, anything. Because it's a completely foreign sensation and he was so unprepared, so caught off guard, he immediately surges forward, away from it, his reflexes taking over.  
  
But he realizes his mistake the second Harry grabs his hips harshly, pulling him back.  
  
"Stop, Zayn. _Stop it._ "  
  
"I'm sorry. Sorry," Zayn huffs out, as Harry slaps his ass, knowing him, really fucking knowing him and what he needs right now.  
  
He feels Harry drape across his back, leaning on him, face against his neck.  
  
"Let me take care of you," Harry whispers, sweetly, kissing him, before pulling away again.  
  
So Zayn does. He leans on his forearms as Harry hovers behind him, pulling his ass in his hands, pulling him towards his face. He feels Harry's tongue against him again, and he lets it happen, let's the sensation wash over him.  
  
Harry takes care of him, takes care of him like he didn't know he needed, like he never understood until Harry kissed him for the first time, grabbed his face and held him still. Zayn grips his pillow, pulls it to his face, as Harry opens him up with his tongue. Harry pants into it, sucks at him, fluttering his tongue around the ring of muscle no one's ever seen up close before.  
  
Zayn gives it all away, gives it up, spreading his legs wider, his cock smearing precome against his stomach. Harry sinks into it, pushes his tongue in further, pushing Zayn, pulling Zayn, again and again, until Zayn is panting and his legs ache.  
  
"Hazza," he whines, that perfect mixture between guttural and breathy, right in the middle.  
  
"You like it?" Harry finally speaks, sitting back, thumb running over his slick hole.  
  
"I need it," Zayn says, cheeks reddening, not believing he's actually this needy, this desperate for something he's never had before. He's nervous, but he can't fucking wait anymore.  
  
"I got you, I got you," Harry whispers, now drizzling lube down Zayn's ass.  
  
Zayn feels it, the cool liquid, as it drips down him, as Harry teases him with his finger. He pushes back at it, needing it, needing something, gripping the pillow in his hands tighter.  
  
Harry doesn't make him wait, because he's so lovely, this weird fucking hippie man-child, slipping his index finger into Zayn, slowly, getting Zayn through the initial stretch. It's another sensation Zayn's not used to, but he remembers Harry's one and only rule, to trust him, so he pushes back at him again until Harry adds a second finger.  
  
"Look at you, babe. You open right up for me," Harry says in a low voice, other hand rubbing at Zayn's lower back.  
  
"Yeah," Zayn huffs out, eyes closed, as Harry stretches him further.  
  
"You like it? You want more?"  
  
"Yeah," he groans, Harry pushing his two fingers in deeper.  
  
Harry leans over him and kisses his spine, finally curling his fingers, lightly running them over Zayn's prostate. Zayn clenches around him, groans so deeply, so thoroughly into the pillow, he's afraid the downstairs neighbors heard it.  
  
"I'm gonna fuck you, babe. I'm gonna fuck you so you feel it, okay? You're gonna feel it and you're gonna let me do it, right?"  
  
Zayn can't speak, can't say a word, he's so fucking ready for it. He just huffs out a breath and nods into the pillow, his legs aching, as Harry runs his fingers across his prostate again and again. He briefly thinks he might cry it feels so good.  
  
Harry slowly removes his fingers. Zayn's breathing is all over the place, his cheek against the pillow rubbed red. He feels Harry pat at his hip a few times before he finally gets it. He slowly pushes up onto his hands again so he can roll himself over properly.  
  
Once he's on his back, once he opens his eyes and looks up at Harry above him, he can't help but surge forward and kiss him, controlling at least that. He feels such overwhelming affection for this strange person who waltzed into his life like he belonged there, the kid with stones in his pockets and scarves in his hair, the kid who knows him deep down and knows when he needs to shut his brain off for a while.  
  
Harry kisses him back, fiercely, before pulling back and sitting on his haunches, looking down at his boy.  
  
"You ready?"  
  
Zayn realizes Harry already has the condom on, is already slick and waiting for him, waiting for the go-ahead. So he nods, grabbing for Harry's biceps as he puts his hands on either side of Zayn's torso.  
  
"You tell me if it hurts, tell me if you wanna stop," he whispers. "Just relax. Trust me."  
  
Zayn just nods, closing his eyes, bracing himself for another new sensation.  
  
He doubts he'll ever forget the way it felt, that first time, the first time Harry entered him. He felt so fucked out already, so stretched and ready, that when the tip of Harry's cock catches on his rim, he gasps, briefly tensing, before remembering what Harry told him to do.  
  
Zayn forces himself to relax, forces his body to let go, all at once on an exhale, as Harry sinks deeper and deeper, inch by inch, stretching.  
  
By the time he bottoms out, by the time he feels Harry's hips against him, feels Harry's lips against his neck, he's already seeing colors behind his eyelids. It's like, yet again, everything falls into place, his entire life, everything he thought he wanted, shifts and makes sense. It's like their first kiss, the first time he tasted Harry, the first time Harry held his shoulders in his hands. He can't help but smile.  
  
Harry slides almost all the way out before pushing back in, letting Zayn get used to him, letting him stretch further. He whispers into his ear, tells Zayn how beautiful he looks, how good he is, how open he is for Harry. Zayn soaks it in like a sponge, arms making his way around Harry, holding on, pulling against Harry's push.  
  
And when he comes, it's with another gasp, another breath, another whine, as Harry comes with him. They come together, tensing, pulling, pushing.  
  
Before Harry pulls out, before they come back down, Harry lays on top of him, face in Zayn's neck, and it's perfect. Zayn reminds himself Harry has always been the force to be reckoned with, the one breezing in and taking control, without Zayn even realizing it.  
  
Harry's always discreetly been the boss, the one with only one rule to Zayn's long list, the one giving Zayn what he needs before he even knows what it is. He hopes he gives Harry what he needs too.  
  
"I love you," Zayn whispers, into Harry's messy head of hair.  
  
"I love you," Harry says back, kissing his neck.

  
  
***

  
If you're anything like Zayn, you'll probably want to hear that Zayn did great on every final, every project, and aced it all. You'll probably want to hear that everything worked out, the to-do lists were all accomplished, the endless notes all did what they were meant to, which was whip Zayn's ass into shape. Zayn did what he set out to do, which was control his destiny, control his life, control his career path.  
  
But if you're anything like Harry, you probably don't care about any of that shit. You probably care about how they each got what they needed, a balance to their imbalances. Harry brought Zayn back down when he needed it, and Zayn brought out the best in Harry, the side of himself he so often forgot to remember, the driven and smart side not controlled by energies and even numbers.  
  
Zayn took his easy summer English class, aced it, and graduated.  
  
Harry made Zayn do hard yoga poses when he got stressed during all of it, read Zayn passages from his favorite poetry books after nights of tasting each other, had Zayn attached at his hip before he watched with tears in his eyes as Zayn walked into the airport, leaving for Boston two days after he had a diploma in his hand.

They promised to be fine, to choose each other, even on days when it was hard to be a part.  
  
It's as Zayn buckles his seat belt that day, after waving goodbye to Harry, that he thinks it again: six weeks will fly by. He has to focus on the task at hand. He knows he's going to learn a ton, become a sort-of working man with a tie and a briefcase, at a sick agency in one of the coolest cities in the country. But he also knows he won't be able to go ten minutes without thinking of Harry, his Harry, of their shitty apartment near school, the shitty apartment he already misses. He knows Harry has his own summer classes to focus on, knows he'll be just as busy. He sighs.  
  
He reaches into his bag's back pocket, for the book Harry told him to read, right as the plane takes off, and is surprised to find a small black box instead. He carefully opens it and pulls out a crystal, an orange-red pendant with sleek edges, on a silver chain.  
  
Zayn smiles.  
  
Everything in Harry's life has meaning, he's come to learn, and he has a feeling he'll get a great explanation for this when Harry is good and ready. So he slips it around his neck and tucks it under his shirt, close to his heart just like Harry taught him.

  
  
***

  
So that, my friends, is what it looks like when two energies converge and mix together. That's what it looks like when a control freak and a flower child form into one energy, one odd-as-fuck pair that will never make sense on paper.  
  
Because Harry's an Aquarius and Zayn's a Capricorn, apparently. They aren't compatible, they drive each other nuts, they constantly have to choose each other.  
  
But when a hippie kid with stones in his pocket and a stubborn bull of a man with a list of rules and rubber gloves find each other from a random roommate posting and share a lease for almost a year's worth of crazy, it's okay if it doesn't make sense on paper. Some of the best things don't.  
  
Harry still believes in energy fields and even numbers, and Zayn thinks he's ridiculous for it. Zayn still has to let Harry pull him back when he gets too anxious, too intense. And sometimes he has to remind Harry twelve times about things, eyes rolling just like a true Malik.  
  
At the end of the day, you make the decision, you set your standard, and you choose what you want. Zayn chose Harry. And Harry chose Zayn. They drive each other nuts and yes, they have to choose each other over and over, every day, but they never give up.  
  
Because when an Aquarius and a Capricorn combine, according to Harry Styles, it's not always easy, but it's definitely worth it.

 


	4. Epilogue

 

 

 

_Zayn,_  
  
 _You'll probably make fun of me for this, or at the very least, roll your eyes so far back in your head, you'll see the back of your skull. In fact, I can practically see you doing it right this second, as you read this letter written on real paper, shoved in a real envelope, with an actual stamp and everything._  
  
 _You told me to email you and text you all the important stuff, the stuff I can't hold in, the stuff I'd tell you as I walk in a huge circle in the living room, but I don't always do what I'm told, now do I?_  
  
 _I like putting a pen to paper. No one does it anymore these days, you know? I got the address from your mom, so you'll just have to deal with it._  
  
 _I missed you so much today I ached with it. I ached all over. I went into your room, the room I wasn't allowed in for so long when you weren't home, and it smelled like us. It smelled like the candle I got you, the candle that reminded me of you, but it also smelled like your cologne, and my soap, and the two of us together. I actually sat at your desk and wrote a paper for class, just because, just to feel you around me, if you want the truth._  
  
 _I hope you don't mind. I don't think you will... But you're stubborn and an ass sometimes, so I suppose I should fess up to it now. I also touched myself in the shower thinking about you, if you want even more of the truth. (Stop rolling your eyes. I can sense you're doing it again. I couldn't help it.)_  
  
 _You're probably wondering about the pendant I hid in your bag, the pendant you told me you've been wearing since you found it. I wanted to save the explanation for when you were already there and kicking ass, living your dream, showing the world how amazing and driven you are._  
  
 _It's a red garnet crystal, the best one I could find. It spoke to me, because it's so reflective of who you are, Zayn. It's not only your birth stone, but it's also the stone for success in business and protects the wearer on trips and journeys. It's a stone of purity and truth, and is a symbol of love and compassion._  
  
 _It's my symbol for you, and for us, when I can't be with you. Don't let anyone touch it, not even me when you get back, because it's all yours, Zayn. It's to keep close to your chest, to give you power, and make you strong. It goes perfectly with my onyx and your aventurine, the stones you probably have in your pocket this very moment._  
  
 _I miss you, I miss every part of you, every hair on your head. And I want you to know, again, how proud I am of you, for doing what you always set out to do, for following through with the plan._  
  
 _I promise I'm following the rules, every rule you gave me as your weird roommate. I hope you follow mine. Trust that I love you, that I'm always here for you, and will be here, stretching on my ugly orange mat the second you walk in the door, in only a few short weeks._  
  
 _Also trust me when I say I'm cleaning the apartment the Zayn Malik way, in the right order, almost every other day, just because I miss you that much._  
  
 _I love you. And I choose you all over again._  
  
 _Harry_  


 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> Come talk to me:  
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/this_onegoes/)  
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**Author's Note:**

> This was entirely inspired by this post/tags, if you'd like a visual reference [here](http://benwinstagram.tumblr.com/post/76074153071/)


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